


Ezulik Urus

by Piertersite



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Fiction, OC, The Hobbit - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-09
Updated: 2016-03-26
Packaged: 2018-03-17 04:06:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 28,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3514745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Piertersite/pseuds/Piertersite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a retelling of the events in the Hobbit, with the addition of an original female character. All the credit for the character of Gilrin goes to Amerika-kun (on quotev, check her out pretty please: http://www.quotev.com/TaintedAngel13)<br/>Sorry if any of the expressions I used are not apropiate for the time, but I'm not an expert in period writing (sadly) and sorry if any expressions or words in any of Tolkien's languages are wrong, feel free to place a comment and I'll fix it.<br/>Enjoy :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Unexpected Journey

‘What is it that you may need on this fair night, my Lady?’ the plump owner of the alehouse smiled warmly at the fatigued and dusty elf before him. Handing her cloak to the skimpy boy – probably the owner’s son – beside him, she returned the man’s smile gladly and set a slender, muddy hand on his shoulder.

‘Not much tonight, master Halbar.’ The stubby old man guided Gilrin to an isolated table, all sturdy oak next to the crackling fireplace, where she let herself rest on the steadfast chair nearest to the table. ‘I’ll have something to dine and your strongest ale, if I may, my dear sir.’

‘Of course, Lady Gilrin!’ Clapping his hands together, satisfied, Halbar’s smile widened as he lowered himself to Gilrin’s side to whisper something to the elf. ‘I’ll bring some of the back room ale. Reserved only for family friends.’ And then, with a friendly wink, he turned on his feet and was gone.

The barkeep had been gone no longer than half a hundred breaths when he came back with the elf’s demand. Thanking him, Gilrin noticed something felt wrong in the crowded room of the tavern. As she eyed the people congregated in the room, Gilrin’s senses sprung to life, noticing the man to her far right and the man to her far left covertly turning to their weapons which laid beside them. Gilrin’s hand crept towards Anglachel, grasping its leather bound hilt firmly. She never got to unsheathe the legendary sword, though, as an old man had appeared in front of her table, and seemed to want to start a conversation with her.

‘Good evening.’ The old man spoke. His face was the kind of face that held benignity, but also danger and power, and knowledge in its wrinkles and long grey beard. The man drew the empty chair backwards. ‘May I?’ Gilrin didn’t answer out loud, but gestured towards the seat and offered the man a smile, silently pleading for him to take a seat.

However, she did speak when her natural curiosity sprung up.‘What, if I may ask, is your name?’

‘Hmm, I hoped you would recall something about me.’ The old man took a puff of the long pipe he carried in his right hand. ‘However it is true that the last time I saw you was long ago, longer than you may remember.’

Bewilderment filled Gilrin’s features, as she tried to find traces of the old man’s features in between her memories. She found no trace of them whatsoever, though. ‘I don’t seem to be able to remember you, sir. However, now, I’m much more interested in the reasons why I’m honoured with your company tonight, if I may ask.’

‘I see lord Elrond has made sure your manners are delightfully elvish.’ The old man smiled fondly at the image of Gilrin he had from when they’d last encountered:

_A tiny elven girl, fostered by lord Elrond; terribly intelligent for her age, even between her kind and slightly shorter than the rest of her folk. She had suffered the unspeakable at such a young age; her mother had been killed by a humongous dragon which attacked the village where Gilrin and her mother lived. The child would’ve died as well, if not for Gandalf, who found her, terrified, and took her to lord Elrond, in hopes that he’d raise her as a fine elf of Rivendell._ _As she grew up, the little girl became one of the best fighters between the elves, and promptly left Rivendell, seeking to quench the thirst for vengeance that burned in her heart._

_Rumours carried by the wind told a story about the elven lady learning dark magic in order to fight the mighty creatures that had slain her mother. The rumours where true, and so a dragon hunter had been born._

The wizard smiled at the dragon hunter, and took another long puff of his Tobby pipe. ‘I, my dear Gilrin, am Gandalf, and Gandalf means me!’

The fair elf furrowed her eyebrows, deep in thought about the name, which did, indeed, ring a bell. Then, she remembered. ‘Gandalf… the Grey! I remember you used to visit lord Elrond quite often years ago, and brought tales about the world outside with you! Oh, how I loved those stories…’ Gilrin’s eyes lit up with memories of a happier time when she’d been no more than a curious and messy child.

Gandalf was pleased that the hunter seemed to remember something about him, but didn’t mention it (although his smile grew noticeably). As glad as he was to see Gilrin again, some serious issues claimed their urgent attention. ‘Child, I’m in need for someone who’s brave -or insane- enough to share an adventure with. I can’t promise that you’ll come back alive, nor that you’ll be safe during the journey. But I can promise there will be many dangers upon us, as well as that something of immense value will come out of this quest and that, if you make it home, you will not regret it.’

To say that Gilrin took into consideration the dangers that this unexpected adventure would pose would be a goblin-worthy lie. It would be more accurate to say, if I must be completely honest with you, that as soon as she heard the words adventure and dangers, she was absolutely enthralled; she saw this as a new opportunity to test her limits, not a potentially deadly lunacy. ‘Count with my sword and arch, my dear Gandalf.’ She smiled a defiant and wide smile at the wizard, and put her hand on his.

The fourteenth member of the company had been found.

-

Two days had been since Gandalf and Gilrin had left Tharbad, where they had reunited, and two days had been since they had started their ride northwest bound along the Old Saxon Road, towards the Shire, where Gandalf assured they’d meet the rest of the company.

The ride had been tiring, but they’d reached the rolling hills, green grass and homely atmosphere of the Shire in less than the wizard had expected. Once there, the old wizard had kindly asked Gilrin to go a have a look around the lovely Hobbiton while he spoke to an old friend of his. Without much questioning, the elf did as she’d been told. As she wandered around the green hills of the small village, and walked past neatly painted doors, she noticed the looks the hobbits drew towards her. Most of them were intrigued, but almost none were hostile. One though, of a hobbit woman, showed disgust and Gilrin would swear she’d heard the hobbit lady mutter _‘filthy half-elf, what is it doing here?!’_ Gilrin decided to, instead of unleashing her anger upon the splendid fellows of the Shire, buy some dried fruit from a nearby stand. She thanked the amiable hobbit that sold them to her, and was on her way towards the forest surrounding the village.

Stepping into the woods, the bright sunlight faded, as the dense foliage sheltered the wildlife beneath it from the scorching heat of the summer. The air was fresher, and smelled of decaying leaves and late blooming flowers. The tantalising atmosphere of nature in its prime state almost made Gilrin’s anger fade completely, but her thoughts happened to wander back to the unmannerly hobbit with the big hat and the overly bombastic attire.

Rage and anger where feelings Gilrin couldn’t control completely, ever since her encounter with the mighty _urulokë_ that almost took her down. Memories of the savage fight against the dragon made the elf’s blood boil and her hands shake. Tiny sparks and flames twirled around her fingers, in between the iron rings she wore as battle rewards. Before Gilrin knew it, the little flames had grown into a full size sphere of blazing light, and she had sent it crashing into a huge rock nearby. At least, she had had enough good sense to not send it towards the easily flammable grass and trees. Gilrin let out a low growl and dropped to the ground, deeply troubled. _If I am to go on this quest, and be around other people, I must master some degree of self-control. I wouldn’t want to hurt any comrades._

-

Later that day, Gandalf had found the distressed elf in the forest, in the same exact spot where she’d sat down several hours before that, but fairly calmer. The wizard saw the elf’s fingers moving rapidly, creating and destroying small spirals of blackish smoke.

‘Gilrin, may I ask you to join me?’ Gandalf’s voice was calm and warm, not wanting to upset or startle the lass. Far from startled, Gilrin’s eyes rose to met the wizard’s and smiled honestly.

‘Aye, Gandalf. It’ll be a pleasure.’ Rising to her feet, she joined the wizard, who’d turned towards the path leading out of the forest. Adjusting the straps of her weapons, she turned to her companion. ‘May I ask where we’re headed?’

‘We, my dear child, are going to meet the rest of the company.’ Gandalf’s eyes ran over the landscape of the village, looking for something, or someone. He finally found who he was looking for and a satisfied smile grew on his wrinkly face. ‘Ah! There they are!’ And yes, there they were indeed. Soon enough, three dwarves appeared before Gandalf and Gilrin. They didn’t introduce themselves, for the wizard sorted that out for them. ‘Gilrin, these are Bifur, Bofur and Bombur. Three of the dwarves of our company.’ The dwarves didn’t seem to know Gilrin, but they didn’t show a special degree of antagonism against her. Motioning at the elf, Gandalf introduced her. ‘And this, master dwarves, is Lady Gilrin, from Rivendell.’

Gilrin placed her right hand on her chest and bowed before the dwarves, smiling brightly. ‘Just Gilrin. At your service, master dwarves.’ And the dwarves returned the bow, their beards almost touching the floor.

‘Well now that the introductions have been made, let’s join the rest.’ Commanded Gandalf, as he started to lead their way along the side of the forest. Soon enough, they’d arrived to the green polished door of a hobbit hole. The dwarves rushed to the door and knocked vigorously. Seeing no one answered, they started pushing the wooden door, thus collapsing to the ground in a heap of cloaks, beards and cursing when the door was pulled open by a hobbit. He had brown blondish curls covering his head, and was well dressed, in a white shirt, vest, and smooth trousers, all bright colours.

‘It isn’t like you to keep friends waiting at the mat, Bilbo Baggins.’ Gandalf walked inside the small hobbit house, having to lower his head so as to not run into the numerous wooden beams or into the lamp. ‘Bilbo, these are Bifur, Bofur and Bombur. And this, is Gilrin from Rivendell.’

‘At your service!’ Sung the merry trio of dwarves, before scurrying towards the kitchen, where loud noises and laughter could be heard.

‘My, Gandalf, why is all these dwarves in my house?’ The hobbit called Bilbo asked the wizard, quite irked at the presence of so many unexpected visitors in his home. Honestly, Gilrin understood the hobbit perfectly.

‘Well, my dear Bilbo, when the last dwarf arrives, you’ll know.’ He patted Bilbo’s head affectionately and departed towards the kitchen, leaving Gilrin and Bilbo alone.

‘Master Baggins, I’m sorry to have intruded into your home out of the blue. Gandalf brought me saying nothing about where we were going.’ Gilrin felt genuinely bad for the hobbit, seeing numerous swords and other weaponry scattered around the wooden floor of the entrance hall. Bilbo sighed and smiled friendly at Gilrin.

‘Do not fret, Lady Gilrin. At least you’ve got some fine manners, not like those dwarves.’ Bilbo shook his head in displeasure and looked apologetically at the elf. ‘I’m afraid they have ransacked the pantries and there is little I can offer you to eat. Maybe some soup? Chamomille tea?’

‘That would be wonderful, master Baggins. Lead the way and I’ll gladly help you out.’

Bilbo and Gilrin hadn’t been gone more than a few minutes when three loud knocks resounded around the whole house. The dwarves had stopped eating and laughing, and were eyeing the door, some expectant, some afraid. Shortly, Bilbo opened the door to reveal another dwarf. This one was slightly taller than the others Gilrin had already met. He had long dark hair and icy blue eyes. _Well, doesn't he look grouchy?_  Thought Gilrin to herself.

The dwarf made his way into the house and scowled at everything that met his eyesight. Until his gaze fell on Gilrin. Then, his eyes burned with hatred and his hand turned to grasp his sword. ‘What is the half-elf doing here?!’ His voice boomed around the house, making the dwarves flinch and Gandalf look down in exasperation.

On the other side, Gilrin was very much offended by the serious _anger issues_ the dwarf had, and soon specks of dark smoke and small crackling flames begun dancing around her fingers. ‘Save your affronts and incivility for those willing to listen to it, master dwarf!’

Gandalf stepped into the space beside Gilrin and put a hand on her shoulder. ‘Ah. And this, my dear Gilrin, is Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, mostly known as Thorin Oakenshield.’ Gilrin had heard things about him, about his courage and his loyalty and valour. However, this dwarf didn’t look that brave or loyal to her. He just seemed to be a rather rude and impolite fellow.

The night advanced well; Thorin and Gilrin hadn’t had any more squabbles, and the objective of the quest had been revealed. To anyone sane, it would seem overly dangerous, trying to take over the Lonely Mountain from the dragon Smaug, that is. Yet, as much as Gilrin disliked Thorin, the dwarves had the right to their homeland, and deserved to be able to enjoy it. Therefore, Gilrin would help them. And, to add another twist, she’d have the opportunity to fight the dragon Smaug itself – to redeem herself, most would think.

However, whether Bilbo would join them or not was yet undecided. The hobbit was afraid, and she knew he was a sensible hobbit because of that. _This quest of ours_ , Gilrin thought to herself as Bilbo read the contract, _will bring many perils upon us, if not worse. Bilbo is sensible, he ought to be afraid._

He did not sign the paper, not even after the dwarves’ poignant song about their long lost home. And so, heavy hearted, they all went to sleep and left the hobbit alone to make up his mind. Most said he wouldn’t be brave enough to do so, but Gilrin thought otherwise.

-

The fourteen members of Thorin Oakenshield’s company left Bag End just before the sun rose from behind the hills of the Shire. The dwarves all rode their ponies comfortably, while Gandalf and Gilrin rode normal sized horses.

The elf found the dwarves’ company quite enjoyable. There was Bombur, with his amazing appetite and kind words; Bofur, with his crazy hat and Bifur, whom Gilrin didn’t understand fully as her knowledge of Khuzdul was slightly rusty. Then there was Dwalin, whom Gilrin assumed to be an astonishing warrior, and wise and sensible Balin. Then Dori and his brother Nori, Gilrin hadn’t had that many words with them to judge, but she felt like they distrusted her slightly still. Their younger brother, Ori, on the other side, had been very kind and friendly to the elf, and had managed to keep up some conversation with her the night before and during the short time since they’d departed. Oin, as well as most of the others, hadn’t been nor extremely friendly nor unfriendly. The young princes, Fili and Kili, where a different matter. It was obvious that they belonged to a new generation, as well as Ori, and they didn’t feel suspicious about having an elf in their company. On the contrary, they’d been bombarding poor Gilrin with questions about… well everything.

The sun had almost risen completely when the company came to an abrupt halt, hearing someone shout in the distance behind them ‘Stop! STOP! Wait! Wait!’ And so they stopped, and they waited, and soon enough, Bilbo Baggins stood before them, panting and sweaty, but with his bedroll and belongings tightly strapped to his back, and the long contract in his hand, presumably signed. Still trying to breathe properly, he handed it to Balin, who examined it with detail, and then smiled warmly at the hobbit.

‘Welcome to the company of Thorin Oakenshield, master Baggins.’

A voice boomed, low and aloof, from the head of the crew. ‘Give him a pony!’ _Can he be any more unpleasant to others?_ Gilrin thought about Thorin, irritatedly.

_Well, this adventure should be interesting…_


	2. A Short Rest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a retelling of the events in the Hobbit, with the addition of an original female character. All the credit for the character of Gilrin goes to Amerika-kun (on quotev, check her out pretty please: http://www.quotev.com/TaintedAngel13)  
> Sorry if any of the expressions I used are not apropiate for the time, but I'm not an expert in period writing (sadly) and sorry if any expressions or words in any of Tolkien's languages are wrong, feel free to place a comment and I'll fix it.  
> Enjoy :)

Several days into their journey, the dwarves had got used to the presence of an elf and a hobbit amongst them. With the exception of Thorin – of course, he was too important to get involved with such _trifling_ creatures – they had all accepted the strangers, to the point in which some friendships had already started to arise.  The most convivial between the dwarves were the youngest, of course. Fili and Kili had made it his personal aim to make poor Bilbo embarrassed at every chance they found, thus reddening and exasperating the hapless burglar. Against this there was nothing that Gilrin could do but laugh, earning pleased looks from the princes, and annoyed ones from Bilbo.

One day, they stopped beside what looked like the remains of an old house, presumably belonging to a farmer and his family during better times. Thorin ordered the group to stop and build the camp for the night right there. Notwithstanding the king’s command, Gandalf fervidly suggested leaving that place, and building the camp further on in their path. To this, Thorin brought out his most stubborn and well… _dwarvish_ side and refused to listen to the wizard. Seeing the dwarf’s obduracy, an infuriated Gandalf started to make his way into the woods, far from the group.

‘Gandalf!’ Bilbo called, troubled by the imminent disappearance of the wizard. ‘Where are you going?’

‘To spend some time with the only person with some common sense in here!’ The wizard barked back, not very considerate with the hobbit.

‘And who’s that?’ Bilbo persisted, trying to find out what the wizard was going to do in case they needed him later on.

‘Me, master Baggins! Me!’ And with that, the grey wizard left, stomping towards the forest.

A thunderous silence fell upon the company, until Thorin’s voice rumbled in everyone’s ears. ‘Get a fire started! Fili, Kili, watch over the ponies!’

-

That night, there was still no sign of Gandalf’s return, and Gilrin was starting to worry slightly. _He’s a great wizard, he knows how to care for himself_ , Gilrin reminded herself, but the feeling that something was about to go wrong didn’t leave her gut. And, when Bilbo and Gilrin were meant to bring Fili and Kili their servings of dinner, her instinct was proven right.

The princes informed them that two ponies were missing. Both Bilbo and Gilrin noticed a patch of wrecked trees and bushes, and a large… _footprint_ on the ground. The elf was astonished, and couldn’t believe the dwarves could have missed the thing that had left such devastation behind it. In the distance, the distinctive light of a fire was to be seen, probably belonging to the pony-thief.

Suddenly, Bilbo spoke, anxiously. ‘Oh my! Oh no, they’ve got Minty! We need to save her- and the other pony, of course.’ Yes, the hobbit and his pony had developed quite the relationship. He even secretly slipped extra apples to his beloved mount. ‘We need to tell Thorin about this!’

‘Yes, we shall!’ Fili started, agreeing perhaps a tad too enthusiastic, to Bilbo’s claim. ‘However, let’s not bother Uncle Thorin with such nuisance…’

‘No, we shan’t do that.’ Kili continued his brother’s train of thought. Then, he turned to Bilbo, who backed up at the dwarf’s look. ‘That’s why we need our burglar don’t we, master Baggins?’

‘Well, em, you see… I’m not a bur-‘

‘Nonsense! You go first, master burglar. We will watch your back, and will help you if necessary.’ Kili continued trying to convince the hobbit as he slightly impelled him towards the source of light, a bit further into the forest.

Bilbo looked utterly terrified, and Gilrin felt sorry for the poor fellow. ‘I’ll come with you, don’t worry.’ He winked at the hobbit, who seemed to breathe deeply and square his shoulders before answering.

‘Well, I guess I’m the burglar after all…’

-**-

After the feud with the trolls, the dwarves were slightly shaken, to say the least, as were Bilbo and Gilrin. On the other side, Gandalf didn’t give the troll event much thought, aside from wandering what had brought the creatures to venture that far south.

The company, led by Gandalf now, was guided by the latter towards the Ford of Bruinen and across the river Loudwater. The wizard’s plan was to make a stop and rest in Rivendell, where lord Elrond would probably be able to decipher the moon-letters from Thorin’s map. However, the dwarves were not delighted with the idea of being surrounded by that many elves; yes, Gilrin was nice and almost all of the elves liked her, but she was _one,_ not a hundred… or more!

After a tight and narrow passage between mountains, the company was surprised by the splendid view of the marvellous the Last Homely House. They were greeted by the sounds of water, soft music and the view of a landscape of mountains, fertile patches of green, and fine buildings made of white stone and other iridescent materials. Gilrin’s heart fluttered at the sight of her home, which she’d missed for so long. She hadn’t visited her father – maybe not by blood, but by _bond_ – in her attempt to fight the fire-breathers.

The group crossed a majestic river, which lead to a small circlet where the doors to the _palace,_ if it is to be called as so, stood. There, Lindir, Elrond’s right hand, welcomed – even if that’s not the most appropriate word – the company, paying special attention to Gilrin.

‘Lady Gilrin! _Elen sila lumenn omentilmo._ ’ Lindir greeted the other elf, kissing her cheek sofltly. ‘It’s been but brief the time since I last saw you.’

‘ _Nae saian luume'_ , Lindir.’ Gilrin smiled at her childhood friend she had not seen in such a long time. Things like this, things that reminded her of home and of better times, made Gilrin reconsider if slaying the dragons and revenge were really worth the suffering and the loneliness.

In the distance, the loud echo of trotting horses became stronger every second. Gilrin distinguished the familiar face that lead the small group of soldier elves that was advancing towards them. The dwarves, naturally, got into a defensive stance, which was clearly deemed unnecessary when Elrond hopped off his horse and greeted Gandalf and the dwarves.

‘Gandalf, my old friend! So long since you were here last. Welcome, _mellonamin._ ’ He then cordially greeted the dwarves. ‘And welcome, _mellonea en mellonamin_.’ Then, the lord of Rivendell turned to his _daughter_ and smiled fondly at the great being she’d become. ‘Welcome home, _sell. Vanimle sila tiri_ ¸Gilrin.’

‘ _Cormamin lindua ele lle_ , adar.’ Answered Gilrin, moved, and proceeded                                         to embrace her father.

The dwarves and hobbit watching the scene, although they didn’t understand what the elves had said, were touched by the loving reunion of father and daughter after such a long time. Even Thorin, who Gilrin liked to call “Iceheart” instead of Oakenshield, was slightly stirred by the emotive scene. However, he was all business in a split second – well, if I’m honest, he might’ve needed a minute or two.

When the elves ended their short talk, lord Elrond’s attention was back on the dwarves, and told them he’d offer them enough food and drink – and safety – so they’d be able to have a nice time in the Last Homely House. However, _why_ the dwarves were in Rivendell was not yet revealed to the elf.

-

The company – more exactly _the dwarves_ – didn’t enjoy elven food that much, and while Gandalf spoke to their host, they started a small fire and started roasting small sausages and well… food they liked.

Gilrin, on the other hand, moved away from her companions quite fast. She wanted to see what had changed and what had stayed the same in her beloved homeland. Just walking around Rivendell made Gilrin very homesick, and the ache grew when she remembered that it would be very long until she returned – if she _did._ The marble buildings, clear waters and fruitful trees were reminders of her childhood after the dragon; they were proof that there could be calm after a storm, and happiness after a woeful soul.

Sat on the edge of a salient, near the palace where the elves had lodged the visitors, Gilrin was startled by a deep and orotund voice behind her. ‘What are you doing here, lady Gilrin?’

‘Now it’s _lady?_ ’ The elf retorted sarcastically, without turning to face the dwarf. ‘How come I’m not _the half-elf_ anymore?’

She heard the heavy steps of the dwarven king coming closer, and thus turned her head slightly so she saw him. He looked _almost_ sorry – well, as sorry as Oakenshield could be towards an elf -, as he lowered himself and sat on a nearby rock, close to the edge where Gilrin was perched.

‘We dwarves don’t trust elves, as you may have noticed.’ The king started, and already Gilrin disagreed because, well, mostly none of the other dwarves in the quest had had a problem with her. In fact, most of them where very friendly and nice to her. However, she didn’t speak about that. ‘Yet you seem to be of great help to our quest, and you are helping us although our races are enemies. And for that, I offer you my gratitude and apology.’

Never in a thousand Ages would have Gilrin expected Thorin Oakenshield to apologise for him affront. Even though it was a nice gesture, it didn’t vanish all the hard words and rude tone he had directed at her.

‘I know you don’t trust me, and I can understand why.’ Gilrin acknowledged, letting him know, subtly, that the apology was accepted. ‘However, you should not be afraid of my betrayal, for my enemy is the same as yours, my enemy is the fire-breathing kin, all of them, at any time. Smaug is our enemy, not each other.’

‘Wise and praise-worthy words, _Zinlaz-azbad.’_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Second chapter, slightly shorter, I know. Sorry for that.  
> ** I didn't tell the troll part because, well, because we all know it, don't we? If anyone is interested in me writing it, leave a comment and I'll do so.  
> *** These are the meaning of the sentences in elvish (in order):  
> -Elen sila lumenn omentilmo: A star shall shine on the hour of our meeting   
> -Nae saian luume': It has been too long  
> -mellonamin: my friend  
> -mellonea en mellonamin: friends of my friend  
> -sell: daughter  
> -Vanimle sila tiri:Your beauty shines bright  
> -Cormamin lindua ele lle, adar: My heart sings to see thee, father  
> **** What Thorin calls Gilrin at the end is supposed to mean Star lady, or Lady of the Stars, though it might not 'cause I'm using a slightly crappy Khûdzdul dictionary.  
> Lastly, enjoy the chapter.


	4. Over Hill and Under Hill

Following their rather strange encounter, Gilrin and Thorin joined the company once again, earning some perplexed gazes from the few dwarves that remained awake by the time of their return.  They didn’t exchange another word, as they each walked in different directions; Thorin to the piece of room that corresponded him for sleep, and Gilrin away, wandering again around her home, not nearly as tired as she wished she was.

At one point during her night stroll, Gilrin looked up to the starry sky and noticed several figures in the tower with a pristine white roof shaped as a half sphere. Her elven sight allowed her to identify the figures; there was Gandalf, with his wooden rod, Saruman the White, with his black one, of course lord Elrond and a white figure which seemed to be made of pure light, who could only be the lady Galadriel. _So the White Council has met_ , Gilrin thought, _they’ll probably be discussing the dwarves’ quest._ With that thought, her senses sprung up: they won’t let the dwarves leave, they won’t allow their quest! Light as wind, she raced towards the dwarves’ _accommodation_ and, without missing a beat or having to catch her breath, she woke Thorin up from his light sleep. The dwarf sprung to his feet the second he was touched by the elf, pressing a knife to her neck in a defensive stance.

Noticing who he was about to slice in half, he lowered the knife, but the scowl didn’t leave his face. Gilrin was almost tempted to let their quest fail, but her more… _benevolent_ side took control, making her talk.

‘We need to leave. Now.’ Thorin was about to stop her (probably to ask _why_ ), but the elf didn’t allow him to do so. ‘The White Council has gathered – they’re probably considering the motif behind your quest, and they won’t allow it.’

Thorin seemed to consider Gilrin’s words for a moment, but he began waking everyone up, telling all of them to gather their belongings and get moving – in a surprisingly quiet voice, if I’m honest, considering who we are talking about.

In an astonishingly short time, the company was on their feet and making their way quickly out of Rivendell. On her heart, Gilrin felt once more the weight of leaving the place and the people who had given so much to her, not knowing once again, when or if she would return. Yet, the weight in her heart was hers to bear, and they had a long journey towards the Lonely Mountain.

-

Several hours after their departure, a thunderstorm broke just as the group were making their way along an unsafe and narrow corbel in the Misty Mountains. As if a normal thunderstorm, in normal lands wasn’t terrifying enough, this was more of a clash of storms, and at night, in the middle of the mountains. Thunder and lightning broke the sky and startled everyone.

‘This is no thunderstorm!’ Balin shouted at the terrified dwarves. ‘It’s a thunder battle! Look!’

And, indeed, the shape of a gigantic being made of dark stone and rock could be outlined, around the top of the mountains across of them, even in the fog that covered the peaks. The creature – a stone giant – uprooted a sizeable lump of dark, slimy rock and threw it with all it’s might at the side of the mountains where the company was. The group held to whatever they could for dear life, as _their_ mountain came to life as well. As the giant came to life and moved, its legs became apart, separating the company in to groups – each standing on fragile rock on a leg of the giant.

It seemed to the eye of anyone watching, that the giants were playing some sort of game; they hurled rocks the size of buildings at each other, and hit each other, and they threw rocks down into the abyss, guffawing as they smashed in the dark along with anything that was down there.

The terrorized group hopped from rock to rock, trying to find shelter. Gilrin had been caught, together with Bilbo, Fili and Bofur, on the right leg of the giant, thus further away from any shelter than the rest of the group. No one knew how it happened, but the next thing they knew, they were passing in front of the rest of the horrified dwarves at blinding speed as the giant fell into the darkness.

In his fall, the giant’s leg smashed against the mountain, almost smashing a hobbit, two dwarves and an elf. It sure looked as if that was what had happened. Dashing towards the possible catastrophe, the dwarves, led by Thorin, breathed in relief when they saw their friends mostly unharmed, but rather petrified by their potentially-deathly experience. Almost instantly, Kili ran towards them, hugging his beloved brother with relief and possibly tears in his eyes.

Not even slightly moved by his nephews’ scene, Thorin’s voice resounded into everyone’s ears. ‘There! Get in that cave!’

Comforted by the idea of a dry resting place for a good night’s sleep made the dwarves rush to the cave. Thorin and Dwalin inspected it first in case it was inhabited by, say a bear, or something worse. As they found it empty, the dwarves set up a camp for the night, but their leader didn’t allow them to build a fire that night – it’s make them too visible in the darkness of the mountains.

The dwarves fell asleep forthwith, all loud snores and slightly softer breaths. Gilrin couldn’t sleep, though, hence relieving Bofur from his guarding stance. The dwarf thanked her profusely, laid down and almost instantly he was out like a light.

The night advanced slowly and placidly, and Gilrin could hear nothing but snores and could see nothing but the calm mountains after the storm and sleeping dwarves. At one point, her eyes caught someone else moving towards the exit of the cave.

‘Bilbo.’ Gilrin whispered, catching the hobbit’s attention instantly. ‘What are you doing awake?’

‘I could ask you the same question.’ Bilbo answered in hushed whispers as he walked towards the elf, avoiding stepping onto any dwarves. He finally reached the entrance of the cave and sat in front of Gilrin, on a big rock. ‘I can’t sleep.’

‘Me neither, Bilbo.’ Gilrin replied honestly, and placed a hand on the hobbit’s shoulder. He seemed at least a bit comforted by the gesture and smiled. ‘It’s been a hard night for all of us.’

The pair fell into silence, one gazing at the sleeping dwarves and the other scrutinising the outsides for any enemies. Shortly, the silence was broken by a fearful Bilbo’s question.

‘May I ask you something?’ At Gilrin’s nod of approval, he took a deep breath and proceeded. ‘The night you arrived at Bag End, Thorin called you something, he called you _half-_ well, _half_ …’

‘He called me _half-elf_.’ Gilrin completed, wincing slightly at the memory of the king’s harsh words. ‘Not a very appropriate term for a civilised conversation if I may say so.’

Bilbo’s uncertainty vanished, replaced with sheer curiosity. ‘Why did he say such thing? You look like a full elf to me – except, maybe, the short hair…’

‘That’s because your eyes are as graciously kind as your heart, my dear Bilbo.’ The elf smiled warmly at her _friend_ – at least she considered him a friend. Yet her expression turned grave soon after. ‘But he’s right, I’m a _half-elf_ after all, though I carry no shame for it.’

‘But, how?’ Bilbo pressed, though with the only intention of knowing more about the elf. Following that question, Gilrin told Bilbo her story, not noticing at all the electric eyes that were staring at her the whole time.

_‘_ My mother and I lived in a city, I can’t remember its name now. The city was prosperous and we lived a good life. But one day, a terrible dragon, with scales the colour of the shiny darkness of a beetle’s wing, and eyes as blue as ice.’ Thorin winced at this comparison, for his own eyes had been described as blue as ice many times.

_‘The dragon annihilated the townspeople and destroyed everything, and everyone, including my mother. I can’t remember much about it, but I remember a scorching heat and ashes dancing like a macabre melody in the wind. I remember a white horse too, and a man in a grey cloak. He brought me away from the devastation of my past and into Rivendell, where lord Elrond – who I gladly call father – offered me my future.’_

Bilbo’s face was wrinkled, deep in thought, but his eyes were fixed in Gilrin’s as if apologising for the calamities she’d suffered so young, though none of them had been his fault. Gilrin’s expression filled with warmth as she remember the golden time when she’d lived amongst elves.

_‘I grew up in Rivendell, with my foster brothers, Elladan and Elrohir, and foster sister, my dear Arwen – I liked to call her_ Galad _. Lord Elrond had me trained with the elven soldiers and I loved the thrill of battle, even before I had ever encounter a real enemy, for all elves were amiable in the Last Homely House._

_However, a time came when, maybe due to the thirst for revenge that I had withheld for such a long time, I decided to leave the home I’d been blessed with to search for the kin of the fire-breather who had caused such chaos and pain. And so, I left Rivendell to hunt down the dragons, with the promise I made to my adoptive family to return safely. Maybe not soon, but someday._

_The first dragon I hunted down was the one that had killed my mother. And after that, many others followed, feeling the fire in my sword’s blade, and the rage inside me. Many paid for the destruction caused by that first dragon, until one mighty_ lhûg _managed to take me down, almost killing me. In a desperate attempt to survived, somehow a forgotten and dateless curse came to my mind. In it, I infused the dragon’s blood with my own, thus binding and coalescing our souls until my body perishes and my soul is finally freed from the dragon’s._

_I was no longer a full blooded elf, but half dragon. The darkness within me tempted me, offering me glory and fame. I ignored it as best as I could, and still do, and slowly learned to control the beast that laid inside of me._

_As my aim of obliterating all dragons was slowly advancing, I became a feared warrior and started to be known in taverns and roads as the dragon slayer, by those more favourable, and as half elf, or even blood demon by those more… hostile. I spent years in solitude, hunting down any dragon or dark being I encountered…_

‘And then, dear Bilbo, was when Gandalf found me, in a tavern, and asked me to join the quest. Of course, I couldn’t refuse.’ Gilrin finished her story, glad that her friend hadn’t run away from her when he’d learned what she really was. Instead, Bilbo got up from his spot on the rock and stood face to face with Gilrin. Then, much to the elf’s surprise, he hugged her with his short, hobbit arms, muttering words along the lines of _‘I’m so sorry’_ and _‘it’s okay now’_.

A soft laugh erupted from Gilrin’s very own chest, and she found herself surprised as she hugged the hobbit back and laughed softly, telling him how everything was fine then. As Bilbo pulled back from their embrace, Gilrin’s blithe eyes met Thorin’s, inquisitive and, dared she say… guilty? His gaze was sweltering and suffocating on her, to the point where she had to divert her eyes from him, but still felt the fiery burn of ice on her.

However, the tension of the moment was broken when Bilbo screamed for everyone to wake up and move. Thorin sprung to his feet, looking at the ground, and Gilrin noticed the sand on the floor falling into the darkness underneath. _A trap door!_ Gilrin’s mind screamed, too late though, as the dwarves were already falling down the trap. The elf would’ve been able to not fall, but she followed the dropping dwarves. They could probably find another sword and bow useful down there.

-

The fall wasn’t that long, but when they touched ground, their bodies ached as if they’d fallen into the very centre of the mountains. The laid not on stone, however, but on a wooden bridge, quite unsafe if I’m honest.

Not a second later, they were surrounded by small ugly creatures who hopped more than walked, and spoke in a language that was nor elvish, nor khuzdul, nor any men’s language. _Goblins,_ Gilrin noticed, with enough venom in that thought word to poison the whole horde that had attacked them.

The dwarves, the hobbit and the elf were trapped by the massive throng of goblins, their hands tied with thick rope and their weapons confiscated and disposed of - goblins were too stupid, though, to find the knife Gilrin kept hidden in her boot. And so, the company was led, not very nicely, towards a giant, filthy goblin, with a large dewlap that reached down to its belly, and slimy looking whitish, scarce hair under the weird crown it wore, made out of what looked like four long tusks. _The goblin king._

‘And who would be so bold, as to come armed into my kingdom?’ Questioned the giant goblin, spitting on everyone near him. ‘Spies? Thieves? Assassins?!’

‘Dwarves, your malevolence.’ Replied a small goblin who stood far too near to the king’s foot for its own safety.

‘Dwarves?’ The king repeated, confused by such an unusual situation. ‘And what are you doing in these parts?’

‘We were on the road…’ Bofur started, before Thorin could speak and give their quest away. ‘Well not much of a road, but a path. Actually, it’s not even that, now that I come to think of it – more like a track. The thing is we were on this road, like a path like a track… and then we weren’t!’

‘SHUT UP!’ The goblin king roared, scaring of most goblins in the surroundings. ‘If we can’t make them talk, we’ll make them squawk! Bring up the mangler! Bring up thebone breaker! Start with the youngest!’

He pointed at a terrified Ori, who was shaking in his boots quite badly. They didn’t have time to bring the foul machine, for Thorin stepped forward. ‘Wait!’

‘Well, well, well, look who it is! Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror! King under the mountain!’ The goblin teased, making a bow that held no respect towards the king-to-be, but rather ridicule and mockery. ‘Oh, but I’m forgetting you don’t have a mountain, and you’re not a king.’ The goblin’s face held what could have maybe be described as a brief moment of pity. ‘Which makes you… nobody, really.’ The stare, more of a glare, really, that Thorin directed at the goblin would have frozen the mightiest dwarf in place, but it didn’t seem like the creature was fazed by it. ‘I know someone who would pay a pretty price for your head. Just the head.’ The goblin chuckled. ‘Nothing attached.’ A brief pause in the king’s mocking speech filled the air with tension and goblin laughter. ‘Perhaps you know of whom I’m speaking; an old enemy of yours. A pale orc, astride a white warg.’

Thorin’s hateful glare didn’t have an effect on the goblin this time either, but the dwarf’s posture changed to a slightly defensive stance at the mention of his atrocious foe. ‘Azog, the Defiler, was destroyed.’ The goblin king looked at the dwarf, as if telling him he was terribly wrong. ‘He was slain in battle, long ago!’

‘So you think his defiling days are done?’ The gigantic goblin questioned, nearing Thorin, inquisitively. ‘Do you?’ He then turned to a tiny goblin perched on what seemed like a seat attached to a pulley system. ‘Send word to the pale orc. Tell him I have found his prize.’

The little goblin slid down the rope, laughing manically. However, it didn’t reach its destination, nor did he send word to the Defiler. Gilrin, making use of the distraction that had caused the conversation between the kings, had managed to slide her knife out of her boot and free herself. She sent the knife, tearing through the air, directly into the tiny goblin, piercing its heart and, thus, killing it efficiently.

The mockery of the goblin king had angered her to the point where her control over the beast inside her was almost non-existent, and flames grew from her hands, licking their way up her arms and her face. Her eyes were no longer the golden colour they naturally showed, but rather a fiery _red,_ bright as the flames that burned on her hands, blistering as the fire of Mount Doom and the fire that had consumed Esgaroth and Dale all together. Hoisted up by dark veils of smoke, the elf’s feet left the ground, making a terrifyingly beautiful deity out of caring, brave Gilrin.

When she spoke, her voice roared louder than any voice any of the present had ever heard, making the goblins squeal and _squawk_. It was a low and high voice at the same time, as if two people were speaking at the same time, a petrifying sound that froze everyone in place, even the farcical goblin king.

‘There will be no peace or leniency for you goblins of the Misty Mountains if we are not freed! LET GO, AND I’LL SPARE YOUR PITIFUL LIVES!’

Although terrified, the goblin king dared face up to the burning sprite before him. ‘I will not let you go! The prize on Oakenshield’s head is too alluring to let it run away like that, not to mention under the threats of a squalid and bedraggled half-elf!’

‘No goblin or orc will touch the King Under the Mountain today! Nor will you touch any other dwarf, or I shall free you of your filthy lives myself!’ Her blazing glare turned to the greedy goblin king, approaching him like an eagle cornered its prey. ‘As for you, covetous piece of grime, I’ll burn you for your affronts if you don’t comply!’

Gilrin didn’t have to kill the king, though, for the dwarves had managed to get their hands on their weapons during Gilrin’s delectably terrorising display. Right before the dwarves resumed fighting, a white light broke the room, sending everyone tumbling to the floor and making Gilrin settle newly on the wooden floor.

‘Take up arms!’ Gandalf yelled, wielding Glamdring in his right hand and his staff in his left. ‘FIGHT!’

The company didn’t need to be told twice, and goblins started to be slain here and there. Having no weapons to use, Gilrin managed to send a goblin tumbling back and off the wooden platform with a lashing of heat and blazing fire. Luckily, it left its sword behind, which Gilrin found much useful.

‘Follow me!’ They all heard Gandalf cry, and did as he said at once.

-

The escape from the goblin tunnels was hard and they almost didn’t make it – the throngs of goblins seemed to never end. However, after a hard battle, many injuries and many dead goblins, Gandalf led the company towards the light at the end of one of the lower tunnels.

Running for the light of the day, the group dashed out of the cursed mountains, breathing fresh, goblin-stench free air for hours. They darted down the hill as fast as they could until they reached somewhat flat terrain. There, they stopped.

Gilrin found many of the dwarves staring at her, even the majestic Thorin seemed to be staring at her raptly. She felt uncomfortable under all the attention, so she tried to divert it from her. ‘Where… Where’s Bilbo?’

That seemed to do the trick, because all of the dwarves started asking each other where Bilbo was. Gandalf asked Thorin, who answered far too harshly when talking about the kind-hearted hobbit. ‘I’ll tell you what happened! Master Baggins saw his chance and he took it! He’s thought of nothing but his soft bed and his warm house since he first stepped out of his door! We will not be seeing our hobbit again.’ He paused. ‘He is long gone.’

‘You have no right to say that, you ungrateful excuse for a dwarf.’ Gilrin seethed, the crimson in her eyes not complete gone yet. She neared the dwarf, menacingly. ‘He joined your quest even though he had no obligation to! He’s risked his life against trolls, goblins and colossal stone giants!’ She pointed a slender finger covered in blood at Thorin, who just stared at her, impassive, yet slightly surprised. ‘You have… You have no right!’

‘Dear Gilrin, come down, please. I’m not gone.’ Bilbo appeared from behind a nearby tree, smiling slightly. The whole company breathed with relief at the sight of their hobbit, and the elf even neared him and embraced him, telling him how he ought to be more careful if he wanted to survive the journey.

‘Bilbo Baggins, I’ve never been so glad to see anyone in my life.’ Gandalf laughed, coming near the hobbit, who pat Balin’s shoulder softly.

‘Bilbo! We’d given you up!’ Kili claimed, cheery at the sight of his hobbit friend.

‘How on earth did you get past the goblins?’ Fili asked, meaning no harm, but out of sheer curiosity.

‘How indeed?’ Repeated Dwalin in a dark, implying tone. Bilbo’s answer was a tiny laugh and hands to the pockets of his vest.

‘Well, what does it matter? He’s back.’ Gandalf interfered, knowing something strange was up with Bilbo, but choosing to let it go.

‘It matter.’ Thorin pressed further, scowling like there was no tomorrow. ‘I want to know, why did you come back?’

‘I know you doubt me, I know you always have. And you’re right, I miss Bag End.’ Bilbo admitted, whole-heartedly. ‘I miss my books and my armchair, my garden. See that’s where I belong; that’s home. That’s why I came back, because you don’t have one - a home- it was taken from you. But I will help you take it back if I can.’

Bilbo’s honest answer moved all of the dwarves, to the very last one of them, and made Gilrin hope Thorin felt half as guilty as he ought to be for talking like he had about the hobbit.

_That’s when the growls of the wargs were heard._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I didn't tell the revealling of the moon letters because the chapter is long enough as it is, and, after all, don't we all know by now what the map reads?  
> ** lhûg means dragon (actually "snake" or "serpent") in sindarin  
> *** For those who don't know, Glamdring is Gandalf's sword.  
> **** Sorry for not making Gandalf save the dwarves, but I wanted a major Gilrin moment in this chapter (I still <3 Gandalf)  
> *****Enjoy the cliffhanger (though you know what happens, but yeah).


	5. Out of the frying pan...

Azog, the Defiler, mounted on his white warg - vicious as all of its kind - yelled an order to his flock in the foul orkish speech. It could be translated on the lines of “run them down!’ and ‘tear them to pieces!’ A portion of the warg pack followed the order, loping downhill at a perturbating speed towards the dwarves.

The company noticed, soon enough, what was coming for them, as they heard the racket of the wargs’ tremendous paws against the rock and soil.

‘Out of the frying pan…’ Thorin started, directing his gaze to the top of the hill, scanning it.

‘…and into the fire ran.’ Gandalf finished. Then he cried, ‘RUN!’ The group didn’t hesitate to do as the wizard said.

The wolf-like creatures were hot on the company’s heels, as their frenzied howls flew across the air of the mountain. Not very much longer, three of the beasts had reached them. The first one jumped over Bilbo, propelling itself on a nearby rock. It didn’t last very long, because it ran headfirst into Sting. Another one trying to attack poor Ori from behind, but he smashed the war hammer he carried into its skull. The third warg tried to cut off Thorin’s race towards the trees, but the dwarf challenged it, wielding Orcrist against the creature. As she tried to get everyone up onto the trees, Gilrin looked around to find the dwarven king in well… distress.

Running towards the gigantic warg, Gilrin pulled out her bow swiftly and readily pierced the warg’s skull with one of her arrows. Directing her eyes at Thorin, she gestured for him to join the rest up in the trees. The dwarf nodded and followed her suit.

The elf noticed Bilbo trying to extract Sting out of the warg’s forehead, but it was in very deep and didn’t seem like it would budge anytime soon. Seeing the beasts coming nearer every second, Gilrin ran for the hobbit, pulled the sword out of its prison, and hauled the hobbit up into the less crowded tree, climbing fast behind him.

With the whole company _safe_ up in the trees, they had a moment to take a breath before the wargs jumped up, trying to reach them in their positions. Gilrin noticed how, discreetly, Gandalf picked up a small, dun butterfly with his staff and seemed to be muttering something to it, before he let it go with a hopeful glint in his eyes.

The attack of the wargs came to a halt momentarily as Azog’s white steed, with his abominable master, came forth. Thorin’s eyes almost fell out of their sockets when he saw his infamous enemy.

‘Do you smell it?’ The pale orc asked in its dark language, smirking mockingly. ‘The scent of fear?’ The orc paused, straightened his back threateningly, and continued to taunt Thorin. ‘I remember your father reeked of it…Thorin, son of Thrain.’

‘It cannot be…’ Thorin muttered, still hanging onto the tree, anger and a despondent desperation in his voice and gander.

Azog pointed his mace at Thorin and commanded, ‘That one is mine. Kill the others!’ And in no time at all, the wargs and orcs resumed their attack upon the company. _We haven’t got the slightest chance,_ Gilrin wondered, frantically looking around her at her companions. The thought of them possibly dying soon inflamed her anger, staining her eyes and mind with red rage.

‘STAY BACK!’ The elf screamed at the horde of attackers, releasing a powerful tongue of fire towards the floor, getting to each and every one of them. The growls and shrieks of pain filled their ears, as well as the smell of charred skin and fur – the coast was clear and the only few orcs remaining were the ones beside Azog.

Gandalf had an idea because of Gilrin’s reaction: he grabbed a nearby pinecone and set fire to it with his staff. He lit a few more and shred them out amongst the dwarves on his tree. Gilrin followed suit, setting fire to pinecones for those on hers.

The company threw their inflamed projectiles with fury and ire, hitting their aims almost every time. Soon and quite easily, a wall of flames stood strong and ominous between the orcs and their prey. However, even across the raging columns of fire, Thorin and Azog locked eyes, and the dwarf left his tree and began walking steadily towards the pale orc, brandishing Orcrist in his hand.

Bilbo, terrified because of the dwarf’s reckless behaviour, searched for Gilrin’s eyes, desperately trying to communicate to her something they all knew: if Thorin and Azog fought now, the dwarf’s chances of surviving were frankly scarce. The elf, aware of the fact that she might as well die that night, left the tree with a gracious leap, and followed the dwarf, who was already running across the fire wall and towards the orc.

The white warg, with a mere vault, managed to knock Thorin on his back, eliciting a pained gasp from him. Yet, out of sheer will power, the dwarven king got back on his feet, just as help came his way. Although he was still facing his enemy, his eyes turned to eye the oncoming helper, to see Gilrin beside him, wielding a pair of long, shiny and probably ground fine swords.

‘Leave, Gilrin!’ Thorin shouted, his voice almost muted by the crackling of the nearby flames. ‘This is my battle!’

‘I will not let you sacrifice yourself uselessly when the Lonely Mountain is still in the claws of a dragon!’ The elf shouted back, not taking her eyes off the orc, who was waiting for the best moment to attack. Thorin felt something, leaving ire and revenge aside, which he couldn’t quite place. However, this was not the time to get distracted, not at all.

With a victorious roar full of virulence, Azog guided his steed forward and towards the warriors before him.

The fight was fierce and brutal.

Azog charged towards Thorin first, and struck him with his war mace straight on the face, making the dwarf fall backwards once again. Balin’s faint scream was heard in the distance upon his leader, his _friend’s_ fall and the orc’s dark laughter.

Azog’s warg caught Thorin between its teeth and pressed them into the dwarf, causing a searing scream of pain to leave the latter’s mouth. But he wasn’t quite dead, because the warg’s attacked was stopped in time.

Gilrin’s cry, flaring with ferocity, was followed suit by the sound of metal against metal, and the sounds of warg and master and elf fighting. The orc swung his mace, mercilessly, at Gilrin who, by pure luck, managed to duck in time. Drawing out her swords, the dragon hunter managed to gravely injure the warg’s front legs, thus giving her some time to try and get Thorin back on his feet.

She raced to the fallen dwarf and kneeled beside him, putting her hands on his chest, and started muttering a healing spell she’d learned ages before.

The spell wasn’t working, and they were short on time, for Azog had left his warg aside and was marching towards them stealthily. However, he was distracted by a tiny creature with a glowing sword, who stood bravely between him and his objective.

Bilbo, bold and dauntless, faced the pale orc to try and give Gilrin some more time and avoid their deaths. The orc approached him, every second nearer, until a battle cry, louder than any other before, broke the night air. An infuriated group of dwarves marched towards the orc, and a few of his subordinates that still lingered there.

They all fought courageous and fiercely, and not one of the fell creatures was able to come near the wounded dwarf. However, the orcs were strong, and their steed even more so.

When the battle was prone to mark the orcs as winners, another unexpected arrival occurred; a loud whistling screech, far too melodic and frightening to be human, resounded amongst the furore of the fight. Giant eagles, big as Ents, descended towards the anguished dwarves, picking each of them up easily and soaring high, taking their loads with them.

Although she’d been expecting to be picked up by one of the enormous birds, Gilrin was still terrified when an especially big eagle picked her and Thorin swiftly, inside a claw each.

The loud cry of defeat from Azog, the Defiler, soared the sky with the eagles, until it died down and the dawn broke in silence.

-

The light of the early morning suffused the sky with pinks, oranges and blues, washing away the night, the fear and the bloodshed. But the injured were still injures, especially Thorin, and the company’s minds were all still in the fight, or shaking with the aftermath of it.

Descending dexterously, the eagles deposited their passengers with ease on the ground, atop of a hill, far away from dangers and orcs – and wargs.

When their feet touched the ground, Gilrin rushed to the injured dwarven king’s side, and resumed her attempt to heal him. She was not a healer, there was no doubt in that, but her years in Rivendell with lord Elrond, and then those as a nomad, had taught her many tricks.

She called for Kili and Fili, probably the fastest in the group, and spoke to them without averting her attention from their uncle’s wounds. ‘I need you to go into those nearby woods,’ the elf commanded, tearing a piece of her cloak and tying it around Thorin’s arm, and then another around his left leg. ‘You must find a plant, small and bushy with tiny pale flowers. _Athelas,_ you must find it quick. Otherwise, there’s slim chance of survival for him.’ The dwarven brothers nodded, deep frowns upon their young faces, and they took off fleetly into the forest.

Searching through her mind, Gilrin tried to remember any spell or chant that was meant to heal, but all she could think of was the time’s when she’d treated the superficial wounds from soldiers during sword practice. _Cleanse, athelas, bandage,_ Gilrin repeated in her head. She looked for the small wineskin she carried, which she had filled with water in Rivendell. Pouring it generously over Thorin’s wounds, she used another cloak rag to swab carefully all the dust, dirt and blood from all gashes and cuts.

Just then, she remembered some healing words, not a spell really, she’d heard and learned during her short stay in a village surrounding Mirkwood. ‘ _Menno o nin na hon i eliad annen annin, hon leitho o ngurth._ ’ The healing chant in Sindarin could be translated to something like “ _May the blessing that was given to me be sent from me to him, may he be released from death.”_ In due course, Fili and Kili ran to the elf’s side and kneeled, handing her the plant. She examined it and smiled half-heartedly. ‘Athelas – this will do.’ She pressed and squeeze the herb between her hands, and gave each Fili and Kili a small amount of it. She pressed the herb onto one of the ugliest wounds and the brothers, confused and scared, did as she was doing.

Gilrin continued to recite the healing spell, always pressing the athelas to the injuries. Closing her eyes to concentrate, she overheard the young dwarves starting to pick up on her words and mutter them softly.

When the elf finally unclosed her eyes, blue eyes met hers, slightly veiled by the wake of the strife; the withdrawal in Thorin’s gaze had almost vanished, the elf noticed, but it might as well have been due to the haziness of having just awoken.

Although he shouldn’t have, as his nephews advised him, Thorin managed to sit upright and look around him. His eyes set first on Fili and Kili, smiling when he saw them mostly unharmed. Then, he skimmed along the other dwarves, who were either being attended by Oin, by Gandalf, or resting calmly. He also saw Bilbo, miraculously unharmed, before he moved his eyes to Gilrin, still knelt beside him.

‘You…’ Thorin started, with a raspy, hoarse voice. He straightened up further and turned to the elf, almost goggling. ‘You healed me?’

Gilrin didn’t know how to answer to that question; of course she had, why would she let him perish in such a way? However, she just uttered a simple ‘Yes.’

‘But, why?’ Thorin compelled in his confused state. ‘I’ve done nothing to deserve such kindness. I have only brought perils upon you all, not anything deserving of such graciousness.’

Gilrin, slightly bewildered by the dwarf’s response, decided to avoid his eyes by concentrating herself on bandaging his wounds. Then, without Thorin’s intense gaze on her face, she replied to his question. ‘You are needed, Thorin. These dwarves were destitute of someone to guide them, someone they respected and could call king someday.’ The elf paused, taking a deep breath, but not raising her gaze yet. ‘You give them hope, courage and the promise of a better future, more similar to their glorious past. That hope can’t die this soon, thereupon neither can you.’

Silence fell upon the two. She heard hushed voices from the surroundings, but her mind was too unclear to elucidate anything. Then, she felt her chin being gently raised, until she was forced to stare into Thorin’s poring gaze.

He almost smiled a full smile when he talked. ‘You make me feel almost remorse for the hatred between your kind and mine.’ The dwarf paused, and his affable tone turned into a graver one. ‘I will not forget this act of magnanimity, lady Gilrin of Rivendell. Nor will I forget how you – and brave master Baggins – outfaced Azog, and stood by me in my lowest.’ The dwarf’s features turned kind, once again. ‘May Durin’s grace and protection come upon you, and may your life be guarded by mine, _Urus azbad_.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I didn't include the scene wher ethey almost fall of the cliff because I wanted to change it up a bit.  
> **Yes, the healing spell Gilrin uses is the one Tauriel uses to heal Kili in the Desolation of Smaug.  
> ***I didn't add the hug scene with Bilbo because, well, lets leave that for the next Bagginshield I'm working on, okay ;) ?  
> ****What Thorin calls GIlrin at the end is meant to mean Fire lady, although I can't assure it because the khuzdul dictionaries are... a bit crappy.  
> *****If you want to see how I pictured Gilrin, check this link: http://healthy-life-happy-mind.tumblr.com/post/113715338294/this-is-the-female-oc-from-my-new-the-hobbit-fic


	6. Timeless Halls

The descent from the Carrock was easy enough, and there was still enough daylight to favour travelling for several more hours. The sky was a lovely light blue, no clouds blemished it, and a much welcomed, delicious warmth seeped into the cold bones of the group as the sun shone high and strong.

The day advanced, and slowly, everyone started regaining their good moods – as good as they could be – and chatter travelled with them like a melodic sign of a peaceful day of journey ahead of them; Gandalf was talking to Bilbo about the fireworks the hobbit so fondly remembered, Kili and Fili teased poor Ori with no consideration for the poor dwarf. Even though master Dwalin interceded for him, the brothers liked to have fun, and Ori provided them plenty of amusement. Gilrin treaded on her own, guarding the rear, but she didn’t mind – there was some sort of peacefulness to being on her own with her thoughts for a while. She observed the medley gathering they were: thirteen dwarves – all of them different from the last -, a hobbit from the shire, a wizard and an elf. No one would believe such alliance had thrived did they not witness it with their own eyes.

Lost as she was in her own wandering thoughts, the elf didn’t notice the presence to her right, who brought her out of her reflective state without much thoughtfulness.

‘What are you thinking about?’ A low, slightly grumpy voice made Gilrin jump slightly and her hand fly to grab the hilt of one of her knives. _Thorin_. He noticed, and excused himself promptly. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb or pry.’

Gilrin glanced at him in disbelief for a second. ‘It’s… it’s okay, I guess. Ehm, how are you not leading the caravan?’

Thorin didn’t reply for some time, seeming all serious and earnest. He turned to Gilrin after a few seconds, though, and his face didn’t wear a scowl any more, but he wasn’t smiling either. ‘I’d much rather walk with you. You don’t seem to need absurd talk to beguile the minutes away.’

That answer left Gilrin confused, but her normally confident attitude didn’t let it show, and therefore, she answered fast. ‘I would suppose.’ The two of them marched from there on in a surprisingly affable silence, as the group moved at a steady pace eastward bound.

There was no sign of enemies, or of a possible ambush, so the journey was peaceful and enjoyable, and when night was almost upon them, they stopped for the day and built a camp using the protection of a more or less sizeable cave, up in a hill – more like a small mountain, now that I come to think of it – to hide themselves from prying eyes. To further shroud themselves, the entrance of the cave was masked with leaves and rocks, until it was pretty much invisible.

Bombur cooked, as usual, and with a crackling fire to warm them up on the outside and a good serving of hearty stew to do so on the inside, even the worst of temper turned approachable and friendly. If to that you add a bit – well, maybe a lot – of ale from the Shire, joy and delight were assured.

As the stars shone above their heads, the mood relaxed and everyone’s heart felt lighter, a very much needed rest. Even though they were still on their dangerous journey, it felt like they were in a hiatus, as if they were all back home, rejoicing and celebrating. The dwarves shared ale and food, as Bilbo taught them stories about hobbits, like that time his ancestor invented golf by accident, or that one when Lobelia Sackville-Baggins almost stole all his silverware.

Gilrin watched the gathering with fond amusement, laughing every now and then at how the dwarves were so in awe with hobbit customs; they couldn’t believe such small creatures ate seven times a day! And it was impressive indeed, for such a tiny body to store all that food.

This time around, when a figure appeared at her left, and sat down beside her, slightly further into the cave than the rest, but still near the fire, Gilrin wasn’t startled, nor was the identity of the person unknown to her. However, she said nothing, until he spoke.

‘It’s been long since we had such a peaceful night.’ Thorin’s voice was still as deep as always, if with a subtle hint of longing. Gilrin turned to Thorin, studying his face and the highlights and shade the fire brought onto him. Even if he always bore that grave countenance of his, the elf had to admit he had nice features – his eyes specially, illuminated warmly by the fire, were mesmerising.

The dwarf didn’t seem to notice, or mind, the attention, and continued to watch the rest of the group for a while. The comfortable silence was broken once again by his deep voice. ‘Were you hurt? I mean, last night, are you injured? I haven’t had a chance to ask.’

Gilrin was slightly taken aback by the question, due to its strangeness, but more because of the how intensely Thorin watched her. She shook the surprise of and replied with a smile towards the dwarf. ‘I’m fine, just bruises and a few cuts. How about yourself? How are you feeling?’

The dwarf seemed to be slightly confused by her question, almost as if he had forgotten his wounds. He cleared his throat and responded. ‘I am well, I think. I don’t feel much pain, anyway.’

‘That is great news,’ Gilrin beamed, placing her hand on the dwarf’s arm. Whatever he had said before, he winced slightly at her touch. The elf’s face scrunched up in worry at the dwarf’s pained flinch. ‘Does your arm hurt? Let me see…’

‘It’s okay, perfectly fine.’ Thorin insisted, but Gilrin was having none of it, and with a sigh of defeat, he lowered his head, allowing the elf to do as she pleased. She undid the bandage that covered the wound, and draw the sleeve back gently, though the dwarf winced again. Gilrin gave Thorin an apologetic look, and examined the wound thoroughly.

Frowning, she looked up to the dwarf. ‘It doesn’t seem that bad. Just some cleaning and a fresh bandage.’ Thorin nodded slightly, motioning at her to do whatever she had to. And so, she stood and walked up to get her wineskin and a fresh bundle of bandages. Even though she stood out amongst the dwarves, they were all far too enthralled by stories and ale to notice her.

In no time, she was back next to the wounded dwarf’s side, pouring cold water on the gash and wiping at it as carefully as she was able to. Thorin managed to muffle almost all of the pained little noises he nearly let out, but Gilrin noticed. However, there was nothing she could do about the pain, but, maybe, distract him from it.

‘Tell me about Erebor.’ She blurted out, not fully acknowledging what she was saying. She sat on the spot she’d been before and turned her whole body to face Thorin. He was regarding her, surprised by her demand. She noticed and smiled sheepishly. ‘Well, I need to know something about the place we’re headed to, don’t I?’

Thorin pondered her answer, before agreeing. ‘Erebor is… Erebor is our homeland. Imagine long and wide caverns, but not like those of the goblins, but ones with tall, sculpted columns,’ Thorin’s eyes filled with longing and pride, as he gestured with his good arm to show the height of said columns. Gilrin found herself imagining it involuntarily. ‘Imagine never ending chambers filled with the purest gold, the strongest steel and the brightest gems. Close your eyes,’ the king commanded, and Gilrin did as so. ‘That’s it. Now try to picture thick and endless veins of precious metals running down the sides of the mountain, even several of rare mithril ran deep into the heart of the mountain.’ Gilrin’s mind was overflowing with illusions and images of what she thought Erebor could be, and a smile started to grow on her face. _I wouldn’t mind wandering around that place,_ she thought to herself.

‘I’d love to see all of that.’ Gilrin said, dreamily, as she opened her eyes. ‘It would be an honour and a privilege to be able to just stand before such majesty.’

Thorin appeared touched by the elf’s words as he smiled tenderly at her. He raised a sturdy hand to caress the side of Gilrin’s face, a touch as light as a feather’s. Thorin’s face didn’t sport his usual scowl, not that usual around the elf, but looked rather calm and at peace, even more so when Gilrin smiled at his touch.

‘You are more precious than all the mithril and gems in that mountain.’ Thorin asserted whole-heartedly, making Gilrin open her eyes in astonishment. She wasn’t that valuable… But the dwarven king thought otherwise. ‘And you will walk around Erebor if that’s what you wish, and everyone will witness how your light outshines the richest jewel of the mountain.’

And with that, Thorin neared Gilrin, their faces inches apart, until their lips met in an ardent kiss. Thorin’s lips were dry but impetuous on Gilrin’s, and hers were like the sweet caress of light on his. The dwarf’s hand searched for his adored elf’s hand, and slipped his fingers between hers. He circled her waist and brought her nearer to him in a gesture of tenderness and devotion. Gilrin couldn’t believe what was happening, but she gladly accepted Thorin’s kiss, and his soft, adoring touch.

In spite of being shorter, Thorin was very dominating, cupping Gilrin’s face gently, but setting up a fervent pace. Gilrin kept up easily, threading her slender fingers through the braids on Thorin’s hair, feeling the chill of the metal beads against her hot skin. The mood was doting and sultry. Thorin’s fingers tied between Gilrin’s whitish hair, pulling gently and relishing on the silken feeling, eliciting soft giggles from her companion.

Even as idyllic as the moment was, they eventually left each other’s embrace, moving apart mere inches. Thorin ogled Gilrin whose cheeks had reddened acutely and whose hair was a disarray of white and silverish locks. Her face had a considerable amount more of colour than it usually did, and her eyes glinted with the golden shine of a passionate outburst.

Thorin brought his hands to Gilrin’s and held them with the care with which a smithy would handle a delicate sheet of silver or gold. A brilliant smile illuminated the king’s features as he moved gently towards Gilrin to touch her forehead gently with his.

‘To think I hated you before even meeting you,’ Thorin’s gaze dropped with shame. ‘And you’ve shown nothing but loyalty and sweet kindness to me, even though I treated you so harshly. I cannot begin to apologise enough…’

Gilrin quiet the dwarf with a soft, short-lived kiss and gave him a lopsided smile. ‘That is the past, and there it shall remain. The only focus now is the future, and the retaking of your homeland by their true owners….’ She stopped for a second, slowly smiling bigger at Thorin. ‘And their rightful king.’

Thorin’s eyes rose from the ground, where they’d been fixated. His poring stare was filled with adoration, the initial hatred had been replaced by infatuation and devotion.

‘No matter what you are or what lives within your soul. You are light, _mizim._ I can only hope to keep your days bright and your nights clear and peaceful – I can only hope that this… love I feel is enough to keep you safe and happy.’

Gilin wasn’t one to cry easily, and she didn’t, but the knot in her stomach was undeniable during the dwarf’s avowal. Holding Thorin’s hands tighter, she smiled a beautiful and emotional smile. ‘It’s more than enough. More than I could’ve ever imagined.’

He raised her chin with two fingers and contemplated her unearthly visage, uxoriously. ‘I’d give you the whole middle Earth, Eä and the Timeless Halls, _ezulik urus._ Just for the selfish act of basking in your smile.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Sorry if it is a bit corny, but I'm in a romantic mood (sorrynotsorry)  
> **The Timless Halls are where Eru lives, and can be considered similar to Heaven, although this is not absolute canon.  
> ***Eä is the Universe, the World that is, opposite to The Void or the Eldest Dark, which is the state of not-being.  
> ****Mizim is a term of endearment. I'm not sure if it is an accurate translation, but I can picture it meaning dear, or beloved, or something along those lines.  
> *****Finally the meaning behind the title will be discovered! However, not now, but on the next chapter or the one after ;)


	7. Queer lodgings

The hush of early dawn announced the denouement of the witching hour. Captivating hues filled the entirety of the sky, and faint warbles were hearkened from the nearby forests.

None of the dwellers of the cavern had yet roused, not even when the earliest lights of daybreak seeped through the crevices in the stone. Except, maybe, for a dwarf who’d been astir all night. He’d counted all the negligible fissures on the rock soffit – exactly two hundred and thirteen had he been able to detect. He had noticed, as well, how small, moss-like shoots sprouting almost everywhere, as if pebbles and stones were fertile soil.

Thorin’s focus, howbeit, was on the radiant creature sleeping placidly in his arms. He lowered his gaze, observant, to the enticing spectacle; gilded sunlight shone upon Gilrin’s dormant figure, kindling her hair like the self-same heart of the mountain. Thorin rose a dubious hand towards the elf’s face. Grazing it tenderly, he sighed and placed the airiest buss on her temple.

Growls clamoured in the distance.

At once, Gilrin surged up, awoken by the noises; her hand hurtled to her sword and she assumed a defensive posed in no time, facing the entrance. Her eyes searched for Thorin’s, not knowing what to do. The dwarf didn’t utter a word, nor would he have had time to do so had he wanted, as all the dwarves, Bilbo and Gandalf were starting to rise.

‘What was that?’ Ori’s fearful voice sounded around the cave in a hushed whisper. He grasped his slingshot with a hand that shook faintly, eyeing the rest.

Dwalin, his battle axe at the ready, placed a big hand on the younger dwarf’s shoulder, and scowled at Thorin, waiting for an order. The mandate came from elsewhere, be that as it may.

‘Someone must go and inspect the surroundings for potential threats.’ Gandalf spoke, injunctively. His eyes studied the group, undecided about whom he should send. That was, however, until he set his gaze upon Gilrin. He ought to say nothing more, as the elf understood the command perfectly.

She nodded curtly ere leaving and strode decidedly towards the entryway. There, she was stopped by a strong hold on her upper arm. Gilrin turned, nonplussed, to find an overwrought Thorin glowering at her.

‘Not you.’ He hissed, vexedly. ‘This is too unnecessarily unsafe.’

Gilrin shook Thorin’s hold off and outstared him, slightly irate.

‘I can manage, Thorin.’ She took a daring step backwards, raising her head proudly. ‘No enemy is to frighten me after the ones who have been hitherto slain by my sword.’ Taking another step back, she turned before exiting the cave, directing softer (to some extent) eyes to the scowling king. ‘Come out when you hear rocks thrown to the outside wall.’

 

Hidden in between the dips and twists of the mountain, Gilrin glided stealthily across the plane, perusing the distance in search for inherently dangerous attackers. Not much further away than a half mile, the elf spotted a huge warg, dark as midnight, with an equally horrendous orc mounting it. _We can’t leave with that thing on the hunt for us,_ Gilrin pondered in her head. With a dash of movement, she fetched her bow and drew an arrow backwards, searching for the spot where she could cause the warg the biggest impairment.

In the end, she sent the arrow flying through the temple of the warg, impaling its brain, and another one to the back of the orc, avoiding the possibility of her targets finding and giving them out. She spent a few more minutes searching, prior to deciding the territory was safe enough for the company to emerge from the cave. The stillness of the ambience compelled Gilrin to think that it was safe enough to simply go fetch the group, skipping the accorded sign.

Hopping rapidly on rocks and more rocks, she reached the cave and pulled the cover of leaves and mud from the entrance.

‘You can come – ‘Gilrin started, coming into the cavern, but was cut short as she was cudgelled on the back of her head with the thick haft of a battle axe.

 

_The air was thick with water droplets, cold as the awaiting for death, or for morning in the starry night. The mist and blight completed the scenario of obliteration eventuating from the massacre befallen mere hours afore. Still air, tense as the trial of an innocent, was filled with the distinctive stench of blood and the peculiar silence which ensued a battle._

_In the far distance, a figure laid on the ice, alone and near upon freezing. The figure was, indeed, the body of a live person; the body of a once living person, anyway. As the background came nearer, the features of the fallen warrior came clearer with every second, with every heartbeat._

_He did not move, nor did he speak of breathe. Not anymore. Save his last words; every person deserved their last thoughts to be heard and remembered. Yet this_ king _was on his own in his dying bed, one as cold as the one who awaited for burial mould._

_In the end of his times, after feats and unconquerable surmounts, the dying king was desolate and forsaken in the moment of relinquishing life and paying the debt of nature. Staring weakly at the canopy of stars that witnessed the irreversible awakening of the king’s immortal life, he conquered yet another feat, enabling himself to utter his last words._

_‘Ezulik urus.’_

Slowly pealing the veils of a nightmare was an experience Gilrin didn’t appreciate, even more so if the horrendous dream involved Thorin passing away before her impotent self.

Howbeit, there was no one dying, no ice and no mist as there was in her dream, but rather an azure and lilac sky and the sun starting to set.

Twisting her neck to check her surroundings proved to be a task that implied much pain and effort. Yet, she was rewarded by Thorin’s worried gaze when she managed to do so. Osculating Gilrin’s forehead, he furrowed his thick brows at the sight of the thick bandage that covered it.

‘How are you feeling, _mizim_?’ Thorin queried in a strong, deep voice with, indeed, a certain degree of worry in it.

She still had no idea what that word in Khuzdul meant, but she could only hope it was a good thing and respond honestly as she sat up.

‘My skull feels as if a handful of stars were doing cartwheels in it.’ Maybe her headache was affecting her ability to build metaphors.

Thorin sighed gravely – all he ever did or said was done gravely.

‘This shouldn’t have happened, it was an accident.’ And Thorin commenced the explanation of as to why on earth Gilrin had been laying on thick grass with a _bandage_ around her throbbing head.

‘We’d heard the howl of a foul warg, so we’d taken up arms and were ready for it to barge into the cave. However, it was not the beast, it was you, and tense as he was, Ori hit you put of sheer, bloody panic. He’s been waiting to apologise all day, and thus being a constant nuisance.’

He closed his eyes for a brief instant before continuing. ‘I am contrite over manner, _sanûrzud_ , I couldn’t wait to see with my own eyes that you were well and okay.’ Gilrin was nearly speechless. Suddenly, she chortled merrily, clearly finding the situation funny. Turning to a bewildered Thorin, she laughed even more at his sober face. ‘Don’t deride me, Gilrin, I’m speaking seriously.’

            ‘Oh, come on Thorin, it was an accident, a fortuitous one and, may I say, a quite amusing tale for that matter.’ She paused, extending her arms at her sides. ‘And, as you can see, I’m quite fine. It takes more than that to hurt me!’ Thorin just grumbled unintelligibly, and got into a mood, but he didn’t leave her side until Gandalf walked up to them to communicate his thoughts.

The wizard claimed they needed to get somewhere called _Beorn’s halls._ Gilrin had heard of that name somewhere, but she couldn’t recall where or from whom.

When he was asked about their mysterious destination, Gandalf’s expression turned darker.

            ‘Our host. You must all be very polite when I introduce you. I shall do so slowly, two by two, I think; and you must be very careful not to annoy him, or heaven knows what will happen. He can be appalling when he is angry, though he is kind enough if humoured. Still, I shall warn you he gets angry easily.’

            ‘Couldn’t you have found someone more easy-tempered?’ Asked Bilbo as he stood beside the wizard, looking up at him.

            ‘No I could not, master Baggins.’ Gandalf retorted curtly. ‘He is a skin-changer, if you must know.’

            ‘A skin changer? A furrier, a man that calls rabbit conies, when he doesn’t turn their skins into squirrels?’ Asked Bilbo, scandalised.

            ‘Good gracious heavens, no, no, NO!’ Said Gandalf, shaking his head enthusiastically. ‘Don’t be a fool, master Baggins, if you can help it. He is a skin-changer – Beorn, that is -, he changes his skin. Sometimes, he can be seen in the form of a huge black bear. Sometimes, he takes the shape of a great tall man, with black hair and a full beard.’

Gandalf continued elaborating his description of their host. He kept cattle and other animals, but didn’t feed off them. It seemed to be like he lived off cream and honey. Often, when he took his bear form, he could be spotted atop of the Carrock, watching the Misty Mountains and growling in the bear tongue.

The group didn’t ask any more questions – not due to absence of them, but rather because Gandalf’s, rather succinct, portrayal of Beorn had plunged the dwarves and their companions into a silence full of thoughts and unspoken inquiries.

            It was in the afternoon when the company started noticing beautifully gardened patches of flowers, each of them a specific kind, especially clover – clover, purple clover, honey-smelling clover and what not. Enormous bees, bees like none the group had ever seen before, flew around the colourful fields as they wished. They were golden and jet black, shiny and lethally armed with great, menacing stings.

Gilrin saw Bilbo duck before one of the great insects collided with his headfirst and laughed, not nearly sorry for laughing at her friend. Bilbo frowned at her, but in a few seconds, his usually gentile expression was back, as he chuckled. ‘If that was to sting me, I’d swell up as big as I am again!’

Gandalf interrupted their little bubble of amusement, stopping the caravan to give out again more instructions.

            ‘You had better wait here. I shall make a sign when you are to come out – two by two, slowly and silently so as to not annoy our host –, mind, five minutes between each pair.’ He turned to speak directly at Bombur. ‘You had better come on your own, and last of all.’ Then, he turned to Bilbo. ‘Come on, master Baggins. There is a gate somewhere round this way.’

Watching the wizard and the hobbit go, Gilrin’s senses sprung up, filling her with slight uneasiness and worry. _Oh all the ways this can go wrong,_ she wondered, yet she said nothing to the others.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Had to cut the chapter because I wanted to update and the chapter until they leave Beorn's would've taken a few more hours to write.  
> ** Mizim is a term of endearment in kuzdhul, although I'm not very certain of its meaning. Sanûrzud, though, means "perfect (true/pure) sun."  
> ***The part written in italics is a dream, if anyone misunderstood it.  
> ****As always, enjoy and please excuse any mistakes. Much love <33


	8. Queer lodgings (II)

Hidden from prying eyes, the remaining members of the company awaited Gandalf’s signal restlessly. They watched with curiosity, and maybe slight anxiousness, as the wizard and the hobbit approached their host.

Beorn was tall, taller than Gandalf and Gilrin, and definitely much taller than any dwarf or hobbit. An intimidating aura surrounded him, making even the experienced wizard nervous. It is understandable, though, for Beorn was, well… frightening: his slovenly mane of dark hair shone slightly as the man ignored their visitors and continued with the task at hand – chopping wood, that is. Numerous scars flecked his back, twisting and changing as the muscles beneath the tan skin worked and moved against the wood logs.

The dwarves and Gilrin continued their surveillance of their friends form their hiding spots, as they heard Gandalf’s attempt to get Beorn’s attention as gently as humanely possible..

            ‘Good morning.’ The wizard tried, but it was of no use, given that Beorn didn’t hear him – or simply ignored him. Again, he repeated in a singsong voice. ‘Good morning!’

In a darting movement, Beorn turned around, all bolshie eyebrows and scowls, and watched the pair while leaning on his vast axe.

            ‘Who are you and what do you want?’ His voice was deep as the gaze he directed to the wizard, stentorian, more so than even Thorin’s.

Gandalf smiled friendlily and introduced himself to the huge man, followed by a small bow. ‘I, am Gandalf the Grey.’

Beorn straightened himself, still handling his axe but standing even taller than before.

            ‘Never heard of him.’

Gandalf sighed softly and smiled, nervously, at the impressive man. He changed his staff from hand to hand slowly and smiled again.

            ‘Perhaps you have heard of my colleague, Radagast the Brown. He resides in the southern borders of Mirkwood.’ And thus, he pointed behind him with his thumb, as if signalling the residence area of the other wizard. With that motion, he uncovered Bilbo, who had been hiding behind the wizard.

            ‘This, is master Baggins.’ He patted the hobbit gently on his back, making him smile stiffly as he eyed their host. ‘A hobbit, of good family, and unimpeachable reputation.’

            Beorn only just raised his eyebrows. The man seemed fairly humoured by the making of acquaintances – then again, it was hard to determine his degree of friendliness, for his face was very much apathetic.

            ‘Very well, now that I know who you are, why don’t you come inside and tell me why you have stumbled upon my fields and home?’

            ‘I was coming over the mountains with a friend or two. I’ll give them a call, if I may.’ Gandalf threaded his words into a thin web, trying to favour their host and not startle or anger him.

            ‘Go on, call away!’

Gandalf gave a long, shrill whistle, signalling that the group could come out of hiding. The first pair was that of Balin and Dwalin, who bowed before Beorn when they got to him, and offered their services to him. Next out where Oin and Gloin, who hurried to their positions and bowed merrily. Following them, Ori and Dori came out, treading carefully to join the others.

Once all of them were out, only one dwarf and one elf remained hidden, waiting the five minutes Gandalf had stipulated between arrivals. Thorin turned his head slightly to watch Gilrin beside him. In spite of the dimness of their hiding spot, he found very much interesting how Gilrin’s hair seemed to emit a subtle gleam even in the dark. He would not speak about it, though, for it was their turn to make their appearance.

They walked into view, approaching the unusual group near Beorn’s home. They were eyed by the bear-man. He didn’t appear too amused by the presence of all the dwarves, yet his eyes softened ever so slightly at the sight of the elf.

            ‘I know you.’ Beorn stated simply, looking intensely at Gilrin. He wasn’t impressed nor angered by her presence – he just acknowledged it. ‘Dragon slayer. Elven Hunter.’ He bowed his head slightly, then turned his head to look at the dwarf standing proudly beside her. ‘I’m not overly fond of dwarves, but if it is true that you’re Thorin Oakenshield - son of Thrain, son of Thror, I believe – and you are up to no mischief in my lands, you are welcome to stay here for the night.’

 

            In Beorn’s home, the company was assigned a big hall to spend the night in. Their host had been gracious enough to offer them a great dinner, one they had not had since they’d left the Last Homely House in the West.

During their dinner, Beorn told stories of the mountains and the terrible forest of Mirkwood in his strong, rolling voice. This was not the best time to tell stories about the perils in Mirkwood, for the dwarves knew they would have to surpass them in order to get to their objective.

As the night advanced, the dwarves started telling stories of their own; they talked about gold veins and silver, though none of this seemed to be of much importance to Beorn, who was soon gone. The dwarves, though, sat around the fires built with fresh logs in the hall, and sung for long hours.

Gilrin was marvelled by the deep, enthralling songs of the dwarves, so very different from the music in the elven kingdom where she had grown up. They sung about their homes, their mines, their families, and how they lost it all. Altogether, it was moving and served to empower their spirits and make them all more willing to face all the dangers which where yet to come.

Thorin’s mind was not in the songs, though, as he watched Gilrin sitting in awe of the dulcet tones coming from the rest of the dwarves. As soon as these were distracted, still concentrated in their songs and stories, he moved swiftly to sit beside Gilrin, whose company he had been craving all day – although he would not admit it. When he sat, Gilrin gave him a quick look, with gleaming eyes that blazed with her thirst for adventures and still-to-come challenges. Thorin dared not break the wondered state of the elf, so he just sat there and gladly soaked in the atmosphere that surrounded him.

Eventually, Gilrin turned to him, smiling still. Thorin returned the attention, moving his hand to cup hers in it. She gazed lazily at their entwined fingers and smiled fondly. Then, she turned her eyes upon Thorin’s face, happy to share a little moment with the king.

            ‘The moment when your smile fades will be the death of daylight, of the moon and stars, for it illuminates the world.’ Thorin claimed, in a soft, silvery voice, full of sentiment and honesty. It was rare to see the dwarf with his guard down, but there he was.

Gilrin was surprised by Thorin’s compliment, and blushed slightly. Her normally pale cheeks burned with the heat of the fire, and the one burning in her own heart.

            ‘Those are not the words I am used to hear about me. More of half-blooded, monster, or blood-thirsty hunter.’ She looked up at the dwarf in front of her, smiling a smaller smile. 'Those, yes; beautiful words full of kindness… they are not gifted to me frequently. Thank you.’

Thorin watched her as she played with their fingers, his sturdy and well… dwarf like, and hers long and slender. He raised his eyes to meet hers, and felt an empathy he had never felt before; he felt the horrors of her childhood, the happiness of her times in Rivendell, the hardships and victories during her hunts… He felt the _dragon fire_ burning fiercely inside of her. Yet, as much as he abhorred the fire-breathing creatures, he hated himself for how harshly he had judged the marvellous creature before him, who had only shown courage and loyalty since they had met. Right then and there, he realised that it was not only her physical protection which he deemed his responsibility, but her happiness and joy too.

With all these thoughts, emanating more from his once stone cold heart than from his brain, Thorin approached Gilrin to take her into an embrace full of endearing compliments spoken in whispers and tender caresses that sparked every nerve in the elf’s skin into motion and revolution.

Then and there, the night seemed to be filled with brighter stars and smaller dangers.

 

            The next morning, the company felt greatly rested and their spirits where lighter after a good night’s sleep and a hearty breakfast. After the food, Beorn walked into the hall with his impressive stance.

            ‘For it is time for you to leave, I will help you as best as I can. I will send food and water with you, as well as a pony for each and two horses for the wizard and the elf.’ These two bowed before him, thanking him for sparing them the torture of riding a pony. ‘When you reach the edge of the forest of Mirkwood, I must ask that you sent back the ponies and horses. There is a stream, black and strong, from which you must not drink, nor bathe in it, for it carries a strong enchantment of drowsiness and forgetfulness.’

They all thanked their host profusely, with a choir of ‘at your service, Master Beorn’ and many bows. The man smiled at them and led the part to the gate of his lands.

‘Inside the forest, I cannot help you, thus you will have to count on your luck, courage, and the provisions I sent with you. With this, I wish you speed and luck. The doors of my home will be open to all of you if you ever come down here again, slayers of the Great Goblin!’

And with that, the party was on their way to the dark, enchanted forest of Mirkwood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Sorry if the story is slightly slow - I would very much like to build Thorin and Gilrin's relationship as well as the events in the original book.  
> ** I'm using the book as reference in terms of events, characters and so on, not the movies, so there might be slight differences from Peter Jackson's story in the films.  
> ***Feel free to comment anything you think there is to improve, anything you dislike, or anything you like <33


	9. Flies and Spiders

It wasn’t a very long journey until they reached the entrance of the forest of Mirkwood. The air was thick and heavy in the vicinity of the woods. A soft mist surrounded the trees and plants, blocking any stray ray of sunlight. Night filled the forest, even if the sun shone brightly outside of it. Something bad - an illness, malice, evil - flowed through the woodland.

As they arrived and stared in fright, amazement and the sorts at the forest, Gandalf promptly set the ponies lose, but not his horse. When he was asked about it, he simply answered, nonchalantly as was his usual style.

            ‘I’m not letting it go, I am riding it!’ He explained, propping himself onto the horse’s rump. ‘I have important business down south, and I am already late as it is through bothering with all of you. Therefore, you must cross Mirkwood on your own.’

At the wizard’s words, the part began to fret, in despair due to Gandalf’s soon depart from the company. They all looked at each other, most of them terrified.

            ‘Do not fear, I am leaving you in the best hands.’ Gandalf claimed, looking at both Thorin _and_ Gilrin. And with that, and a wish for luck, the wizard left in a hurried trot, towards the southern territories.

 

            The journey through the dark lands of Mirkwood was far from pleasant, to say the least. A strange scent, thick and unknown filled the air, making it hard to breathe. Little to no sunlight pierced through the dense foliage of the myriad of old, thick trees.

The party started off well, though, following the path thoroughly as Gandalf had commanded. The journey was not as troublesome as they had expected, until they started to feel the effects of the forest. At first, light-headedness, then slight headaches and drowsiness; all in all, they managed to stay in the path. For a while, at least.

They reached the bridge which crossed the enchanted river, but they couldn’t cross it – a large gap had divided it into two separate pieces.

‘Should we try to swim it?’ Someone asked, hopefully.

‘You heard what Gandalf said,’ Thorin reminded them in a harsh tone. ‘A dark magic lies upon this forest. The water of this pour are enchanted.’

‘It doesn’t look very enchanted to me.’ Bofur claimed, staring absently at the water.

‘We must find another way across.’ Thorin commanded. Although his voice was strong, it could be seen how the forest was affecting even him.

After looking around for a short time, Kili found some vines which looked resistant enough. Before the young dwarf could make his way across the river, Thorin stopped him.

‘Kili.’ He called, making his nephew stop instantly. ‘We send the lightest first.’

And those were, of course, Bilbo and Gilrin.

The hobbit was not precisely happy to be sent first, for he didn’t feel too sure about the strength of the vines. However, he obliged.

Gilrin noticed Bilbo’s uneasiness and placed a hand on his shoulder before they started their way across the river.

‘I’ll keep an eye on you, don’t worry.’

 

It was hard, but soon enough, both of them were jumping onto the opposite bank of the river. Gilrin lowered herself to check how the hobbit was doing. He was perfectly fine, but a deep scowl wrinkled his forehead.

‘Something… Something is not right.’ He whispered, looking at the elf. Spinning around quickly, he shouted across the river. ‘Stay where you are!’

But the dwarves were already making their way across the ensorcelled river.

They jumped from vine to vine with great difficulty – their natural sturdiness was not especially helpful for the task at hand. Though the short distance became a strenuous one, it seemed as if the dwarves were going to arrive safely to the other side – much more so when Thorin, Fili and Kili jumped onto safe land.

It looked like they weren’t having that much trouble. That is, until Bombur fell asleep. The remaining dwarves still on the vines tried to keep him up, but he was far too hefty and so, he dropped into the cursed waters with a loud splashing sound. They had to join efforts to pull Bombur out of the rather shallow water, and then to carry him across the remaining of the path.

Eventually, some pleaded for a rest. However, Thorin disregarded the request, claiming that the journey through the forest was taking too long.

Gilrin noticed how her companions looked somnolent and reeling, almost as if they had been exposed to some kind of sedative. She, herself, was feeling the small amount of breathable air, but was feeling fine.

‘Voices.’ Bilbo called out, looking around bemused. ‘Do you hear them?’

‘I hear nothing.’ Thorin replied, voice grave, but dizzy too.

Gilrin hurried to the dwarf, standing face to face with him. She held his face carefully between her hands and examined his eyes. Where there usually were light, sharp blue eyes, now there was dull, foggy ones.

‘Thorin. We need to get out of here fast.’ She told him, urgently. His eyes seemed to wander, but he managed to focus his gaze on the elf’s face. ‘There’s something in the air, it will make you all fall asleep, and we will never get out of here.’

Thorin nodded, seemingly lucid enough to reason. ‘We must know where we are going before continuing. Gilrin…’

The elf nodded, understandingly, and left the king on the rock where he was sat.

‘Everyone! Do not move from here. Wait until I come back; do not wander around. Sit and have some rest.’

The elf only received hazy grunts for answer as she began to climb up a try with the natural speed and agility of her kind. Soon enough, without breaking branches or the sort, Gilrin reached the crown on the tree and pushed herself through it into the outside air.

The sun was setting beautifully in the distance, the sky a turmoil of oranges, pinks and purples. Birds flew calmly around the trees, filling the fragrant air with their trills and warbles. Far, in the distance, to the East where the sun was lowering, Gilrin spotted the Lonely Mountain, as a huge smile got drawn on her face. And so, with her lungs and head filled with fresh, sorcery-free air, she proceeded to get down to the dwarves.

There were no dwarves when she got to the floor - vanished, only some of their belongings left behind.

Gilrin examined her surroundings thoroughly, her hands itching to grasp her sword. Then, she noticed the unusual amount of spider webs that covered the low plants around her. Along with the sticky substance, she heard faint whispers, metallic noises – more like voices – around her. Climbing onto a nearby tree, she hid herself conscientiously, and watched.

A myriad of spiders, of all sizes – but mostly huge ones – emerged from whatever hellish holes they’d been, carrying big lumps wrapped in their viscous webs. _There they are._ Gilrin thought to herself, getting her sword and bow ready. _They won’t be able to break free…_

She followed the spiders carefully up to their lair, where the hung their prey from low branches, which hunched under the weight. Patiently, she waited for the perfect moment, then threw a small rock with all her strength towards the other side of the forest. Intrigued, the voices of the spiders questioned each other about the noise as they hurried to check it out. So, as soon as the last one had left the nest, Gilrin sprung up into motion, cutting and slashing spider webs viciously.

One by one, all the dwarves and Bilbo were freed, and Bombur even woke up from his magical slumber. They were all covered in spidery substances, but they hauled their weapons and tried to run from the damned place. They hadn’t gone very far when they spiders attacked, though.

The fight against the spiders was harsh, all stingers and clashes of fang against steel and iron. The spiders seemed to have the upper hand at the moment, until the elves appeared.

Slender and fast Mirkwood elves emerged from the trees, bearing charged bows and long, elvish swords. Leaving the spiders aside, one of them – who seemed to be the leader – came into view, right in front of Thorin’s face, holding his bow high.

‘Thirteen dwarves, a hobbit and a half-elf. What a merry reunion.’ The blond elf speaking was no one else than Legolas Greenleaf, son of Thranduil, king of the Mirkwood realm. He wore the disgusted look the dwarves had received far too many times for their liking. ‘What is your business here? And, don’t lie – don’t think I will not kill you.’

Thorin was stopped before he could articulate a coherent answer by Fili’s alerted scream. ‘KILI!’ His younger brother was trying to handle a gigantic spider all by himself, and losing, until an arrow–shot by one of the elves, probably - pierced the creature’s head and the spider fell heavy on the ground.

Now, after the spiders were dead, the problem became being captured by the elves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Short-ish chapter because I literally have no time to write :(  
> **Sorry, no Kiliel - not that I don't ship them, it's just that adding scenes between the main "couple" is hard enough to have to shove in cute Kiliel moments. Sorry for any Kiliel shippers out there <3


	10. Mirkwood

Across a curvy bridge, decorated with spiral-like engravings on either side, thirteen dwarves, a hobbit, and an elf where lead towards a grand structure, built out of the forest, with what seemed to be houses inside trees sculpted to look like giant columns. Thick rays of sunlight flowed sumptuously through the canopy of dense foliage, conferring the area a sort of majestic, but gloomy character; elves could be seen everywhere, some minding their own business, some paying close attention to the procession headed towards the palace.

After long wooden stairs surrounded by clear and loud waterfalls, the company was presented before a grand throne, shaped as giant antlers. Sat on it, one leg crossed over the other, rested Thranduil, the king of the Mirkwood realm.

His long, silvery hair fell easily over his back and shoulders, crowned at the top with a sort of coronet made of wood, crimson leaflets and shiny, immaculate berries. His eyes, blue as winter, stared nonchalantly at empty space, full of haughtiness and disdain. Thranduil dressed in silver and dun garments which scintillated with every strike of sunlight. When he heard the fumbling and growls of the dwarves, his eyes grew wide.

Thorin was the only dwarf allowed in the throne area, though Gilrin had been called up with him – as to why, both were still clueless. Thranduil rose from his throne ceremoniously, as if he was bothered by the interruption of his observation of… air.

As he paced around, he spoke in a sultry, silvery voice.

            ‘Some may imagine that a noble quest is at hand.’ He started, staring out into the vastness of his palace. He spoke slowly. ‘A quest to reclaim a homeland… and slay a dragon. I, myself, suspect a more prosaic motif; attempted burglary, or something of that ilk. You found a way in, you seek that which would bestow upon you the right to rule. The king’s jewel – the Arkenstone. It is precious to you beyond measure, I understand that.’ a cruel smirk grew on the elf’s face before it returned to his usual serious stance. ‘There are jewels in that mountain that I, too, desire: white gems of pure starlight.’ Closing his eyes and lowering his head slightly, the king continued his speech. ‘I offer you my help.’

Thorin chuckled briefly. ‘I am listening.’

            ‘I will let you go, if you but return what is mine.’ The king’s stare was intense and menacing by that point. If Thorin didn’t see the danger that Thranduil embodied, Gilrin was painfully aware of it.

            ‘A favour for a favour.’ Thorin stated, turning his back towards the elven king.

            ‘You have my word. One king to another.’

            ‘I wouldn’t trust Thranduil, the great king’ Thorin’s voice rose, dangerously. ‘To honour his word, till the end of all days be upon us.’ Turning fast to face Thranduil, he shouted at the shocked elf. ‘You, lack of all honour! I have seen how you treat your friends; we came to you once, starving, homeless, seeking your help, but you turned your back!’ Thorin spat, old wounds and memories reopened. ‘You turned away from the suffering of _my_ people, and the inferno that destroyed us.’ And then, in Khuzdul, he screamed irated. ‘May you die in dragon fire!’

Thranduil was in front of Thorin’s face in a mere second, staring at him, burning holes through him with his eyes of fiery ice. ‘Do not speak to me of dragon fire. I know its wrath and ruin. I have faced the great serpents of the north.’

Fearing an attack from the elven king, Gilrin jumped between them, though unarmed due to the guards stripping them all of their weapons. ‘May the calm and composure of this meeting be guarded and maintained, king Thranduil.’

            ‘Who is this who guards the King under the Mountain?’ Thranduil asked, his silvery voice even more honeyed than before. He walked slowly around the dwarf and the elf, examining them in strenuous detail. ‘I know you, dragon-slayer, as to why you are travelling with these dwarves remains a mystery to me.’

            ‘And as so it shall remain.’ Gilrin answered, not taking her eyes off the king.

Thranduil stopped in front of Gilrin, towering slightly over her.

            ‘You lead a lonely life on the roads, working as whatever the townsmen needed: a hunter, a fighter, but mostly a mercenary. Then, you turned to the dragons, those creatures that destroyed your life once. You tried to erase them of this earth, yet on your fixation, you became a filthy excuse of an elf, if I am to call you that. You are tainted, the fire inside of you comes from darkness and ruin.’ Thranduil continued spitting improprieties to Gilrin. She was as angry as she was ashamed by how much the elf’s words hurt, but she held her head up proud and her expression dead. Thorin, on the other side, was infuriated, his heavy breathing could be easily heard.

Thranduil inspected her face with a dark smirk. ‘I have faced monsters before, and that is all you are: a beast pretending to be an elf, to have a soul. And you don’t deserve to live the immortal life of the elves. You’re no better than the dwarven filth.’

Gilrin rose her eyes to meet Thranduil’s. While his were as distant and blind to the world as always, red specks were already tainting Gilrin’s aurum ones.

            ‘You think your life is worth more than theirs, or than mine, when there is no love in it? There is no love in you.’

            ‘What do you know of love? Nothing!’ Pushing her aside rudely, he towered over Thorin, who had his fists clenched tight in anger. ‘I warned your grandfather of what his greed would summon, but he didn’t listen.’ With a wave of his hand, a group of guards appeared beside the prisoners. ‘You are just like him.’

Thranduil motioned for the guards to take them both as they struggled. He returned to his throne, as if nothing had happened. ‘Stay here if you will and rot. A hundred years is a mere blink in the life of an elf. I am patient, I can wait.’

 

            The cells were spacious, fitting more than one dwarf if necessary, but all of them had their own. Sat on the floor of her cubicle, Gilrin hugged her knees and stared at the tiny smallholding of sky the meagre opening in the wall, blocked by iron bars, allowed. The walls were humid, the floor reeked of years and years of ignoring the growing moss and the natural mugginess of the place. To say the least, it wasn’t a very pleasant lodging – not that they were there voluntarily, anyway.

A soft knocking on the wall of her cell brought Gilrin out of her contemplative pensiveness. She didn’t notice the small hole at first, but when the speaker’s voice echoed around her cell, soft, yet heavy and deep, she noticed how the sound seeped through a not so small opening in the wall between both cells.

            ‘Gilrin, over here.’ The disembodied voice signalled. She moved across the filthy floor to sit beside the crack, which was located at her eye level –while sat on the floor, of course. Through the opening, crystal blue eyes gazed at her, resembling a faded forget-me-not in the late moments of dusk. Recognising them instantly, Gilrin didn’t feel uncomfortable about the scrutiny she was being subjected to. Resting her head on the icy stone, she directed her gaze sideways to look through the crack.

There, in the same position she was in, sat Thorin, eyes fixed on the mouldy rock roof above their heads. He, too, gazed sideways at her through the crack as a tender smile appeared on his face.

            ‘We are going to get out of here, one way or another.’ He stated simply, not breaking eye contact.

Gilrin sighed, closing her eyes briefly and reopening them a second later to find Thorin was still looking at her. She smiled kindly at him, nodding almost unnoticeably.

            ‘I don’t know how, but I know we will.’

They fell into a comfortable silence, by which none of them was hassled. Each of them minded their own cell, examining them in the darkness. The only sounds were the other dwarves’ protests and their breathing.

Gilrin heard shuffling in the adjoining cell, and the clatter of what seemed to be a metal plate hitting the floor repeatedly – the prisoners’ dinner. She didn’t get one, though. _I suppose Thranduil considers feeding a half elf a dishonour of some sort_ , she wondered sombrely.

Not even a minute after, she was called to look through the crack. Thorin offered a piece of bread from his, though there wasn’t much to share, but his gaze admitted no refusing, so she took it, smiling awkwardly and started nibbling on it.

            ‘Thank you, _heryn_.’

            ‘I just wish this wall melted away, so I could hold you close, and scare the cold bites of night and imprisonment away from your eyes.’ Thorin closed his eyes, as if he could erase the block between them out of sheer, pure willpower. But the fact was that they were still there, still separated, yet still somehow together.

Thorin turned to his right to look directly through the crack, his eyes roaming Gilrin’s features adoringly.

            ‘I was scared of you. Scared of the fire which lived inside of your soul.’ He started, and let out a grave sigh before continuing.  ‘But, maybe it was time for me to learn that metal is only shaped with fire, just like fine crystal and earthenware are in need of flames to become strong. Just like that, you fire reshaped and changed me. I never thought I could hold such infatuation and yearning inside. All this that I feel, matters more to me than the largest treasure hoard in Erebor, even more than the Arkenstone itself. You have become the new motif of this quest, _âtamânel_. I just wish to make you glad you joined thirteen foolish dwarves in such a quest, and to assure your safety, so that you can roam this world freely as you do and wish.’

This time, Gilrin didn’t find herself speechless at Thorin’s sincere and worshipful words, but rather understanding, for she felt the same.

            ‘As long as fire burns in my heart, it will burn for you. _Gerog i chûn nîn, gin melathon an-uir_.’

When she was about to translate what she had said to the dwarf, the bars of her cell rattled loudly as they opened. Springing to her feet, she found a little hobbit with a big handful of keys in his hand.

            ‘We must leave now, before the guards come.’ Bilbo stated, anxiously, handing Gilrin the keys, due to her higher speed. ‘Be quiet everyone, were leaving Mirkwood for good.’

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Heryn, what Gilrin calls Thorin, means beloved in sindarin.  
> **Thorin's endearment in khuzdul means "breath of all breaths"  
> *** Gerog i chûn nîn, gin melathon an-uir -> "You hold my heart, I will love you for eternity" in sindarin  
> ****Do you guys want me to tell all the book, or skip maybe to BOTFA and continue the story after those event? Comment please, cause I'm irresolute as to what to do :'(


	11. NOT AN UPDATE

Guys, I had an idea for a Bagginshield Modern Boxer!AU  
Would anyone want to watch it?


	12. Infatuation and gold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Contains slight smut (nothing very descriptive)  
> **Translation of words in (neo)kuzdhul:  
> -Amrâlimê: literally, "love of me", which I assume means love of mine, or my love.  
> -Atamé: I created this "word" from the noun "atam" in neo-kuzdhul, and the suffix -é, which in the dwarven language is used as a first person possesive pronoun (not an official word in kuzdhul).  
> -Ghivâshelûh: treasure of all treasures

_Dearest readers, as I found myself absolutely jaded by the slow pace of events, I have decided to make a slight fast forward. Last chapter ended with the company leaving their cells in Mirkwood, and this one will start with the death of Smaug and the retaking of Erebor, as I find that part much more stimulating to write. Leaving that aside, I think this part of the story will allow a wider range of variation in terms of scenes and dialogue, and a longer story with a probable sequel._

_Thank you for bearing with me!_

*****

            The wails and cries of the people of Esgaroth could be heard even from the isolation of the mountain. Desperation and sorrow filled the air and travelled up high, hunting the travellers that had ventured towards the mountain top.

Fili, Kili – now healed from his wounds -, Bofur and Oin were making their way towards their newly reconquered home, merry and buoyant. Their pace was steady and fairly fast and thus, it only took them about half a day to get to the grand doors of Erebor.

Where once a great stone door stood, now laid debris and a gigantic, golden bell, covered in indentations, scratches and what not. The four dwarves paid no heed to it whatsoever and rushed inside their long lost home.

The halls were as grand and magnificent as they once had been, though the remnants of the fight between the dwarves and Smaug were scattered all over the place, giving a feeling of destruction and decay.

They hadn’t yet digested the view before their eyes when a voice called for them from one of the stone staircases.

            ‘Wait! Wait!’

            ‘It’s Bilbo!’ One of the dwarves exclaimed. They all looked at the hobbit in wonder and joy – their burglar was alive!

Bilbo got to the group quickly, and stopped before them panting and placing his hands on his knees, trying to regain his breath. ‘You need… to leave… We all… need to leave.’

            ‘We have only just arrived!’ Bofur protested, looking at Bilbo as though the hobbit had gone mad.

            ‘We can’t… I’ve tried talking to him! He won’t listen!’ Bilbo regarded his friend with a deep frown under the grown curls that covered his forehead.

 

            ‘What are you…’

            ‘THORIN! Thorin. He is acting off. He’s been down there, with the treasure hoard for days. I think he’s sick. A sickness lies upon this place, that’s why we have to leave!’

Fili and Kili looked down towards the myriad of stairs and begun their descent towards the heart of the mountain. The fall from the stairs to the bottom was high, neck breaking, but they arrived safely and in no time, with Bilbo, Bofur and Oin behind them, to the layer where the treasure and Thorin were.

Gold and jewels filled the great hall with gilded light and scintillating reflections. Over the endless hills of gold and treasures without measure, stood to their right a majestic throne, of stone and metal, from around which, Thorin emerged.

            ‘Welcome, my sister’s sons, to Erebor!’ The king greeted them, opening his arms to gesture at the never-ending riches he stood on.

The two young brothers were astonish, both from the sight before them and the look in their uncle’s eyes – one they had never seen before, one of greed, pride and perhaps slight lunacy.

To king’s right, a glimmer of silver stood out, catching their attention. There, beside the throne, stood Gilrin, standing straight as an arrow. She watched them intently, her eyes glowing with worry beyond degree.

 

            Several hours after their arrival, the Bofur, Fili, Oin and Kili joined the rest of the dwarves searching the ridiculously enormous treasure for the Arkenstone. Calls of ‘nothing here!’ and ‘nothing yet!’ could be heard often enough, answered by Thorin’s commands of ‘keep looking! It is here somewhere!’

The dwarven king stood in a small balcony-like area, above the gold, supervising the work of his fellow dwarves. He turned around to find Gilrin watching him closely with dispirited eyes. Thorin seemed to regain some of his previous self when she was with him, and her heartsick bearing concerned him. He walked towards her promptly, and took her hands in his, doubtful as to what to do.

            ‘What is it that has casted a gloom upon you,  _mizim_?’ Thorin asked, for a moment, the greed in his eyes replaced with care and worry. ‘Do you not like it here? When the Arkenstone is found we will…’

            ‘The Arkestone.’ Gilrin repeated bluntly. She turned her eyes upon Thorin’s, which were uncertain about what she meant. ‘What good will it do? Will it help you rebuild Erebor? Will it help those poor people of Laketown? Tell me, Thorin, what will the Arkenstone do that we cannot do already?’

Thorin dropped Gilrin’s hands gently, and turned around, pacing around. He wondered how Gilrin couldn’t see the wonders the Arkenstone could help him do…

            ‘When the Arkenstone is back in its place, in the throne, I will be able to rule upon all this golden vastness, over every chamber and cavern inside this mountain. Do you not see it? I…  _We_  can be the greatest rulers in the whole of Middle Earth.’

Thorin pored over her, almost desperate for her to understand what he thought was perfectly clear and rational, but Gilrin only shook her head slowly and closed her eyes. At that moment, a silence, filled with dread and blue, fell upon the two of them. Gilrin reopened her eyes to gaze at Thorin intently, hopelessly willing for Thorin to return to his old self.

            ‘I do not wish to be ruler, nor do I wish any gold or treasure in here.’ Thorin’s eyes widened as she spoke, but he did not stop her. ‘My only wish, is for the real Thorin to return. You have changed, Thorin – you are cautious and vigilant of everyone around you, and your only fixation is a cursed stone. The real Thorin, the Thorin I met in Bag End, would’ve used all his power to help others, especially those who have suffered under the fury of a dragon’s fire. I can’t help to think that you are not yourself, Thorin, and I can’t bear that.’ Having said that, with a woebegone glance at him, she turned and left rapidly, leaving the king alone.

 

            Outside, in one of the many lookout points of the fortress, Gilrin found Bilbo, sitting on a partially broken stone seat, and looking quite distressed. He was fidgety, and scrunched up his nose more frequently than he usually did.

When he heard steps behind him, he jumped almost falling of his seat. Scared half to death, he calmed slightly when he noticed it was Gilrin. Bilbo took a deep breath, placing his hand on his chest.

            ‘Gilrin! You startled me.’

            ‘I didn’t mean to; I apologise, Bilbo.’ Gilrin bowed imperceptibly and took a seat beside the hobbit, rubbernecking him friendlily. ‘What is it that has you in such an edgy mood?’

            ‘Me? Edgy? No, what? What are you… ’ Bilbo started, glancing crazily around. He met eyes with Gilrin and sighed heavily, rubbing his neck in defeat. ‘Well, the thing is…  _thearkenstonemayormaynotbeinmypocket_.’

            ‘The Arkenstone… What?’ Gilrin exclaimed, wide eyed. She put her hands on Bilbo’s shoulders gently despite the startling nature of the hobbit’s news. She fixated her gaze on her friend, who returned the grave look she bore. ‘Bilbo, listen to me: Thorin must, under no circumstances, have the Arkenstone, do you understand? He can’t have it, or his sickness will only grow and grow, and Éru knows what could happen.’

            ‘I know, that is why I keep hiding; I am afraid of what could happen if he found out I have it.’

            ‘Just keep it safe, Bilbo, hide it somewhere, in a place where no one except you, not even me, can find it. Do not fret, nothing will happen to you as long as I’m here.’ Gilrin ended her request with a warm smile, trying to give Bilbo some of the courage which she wasn’t sure she herself possessed. Bilbo nodded curtly and scurried off with a soft squeeze on the elf’s hand.

 

            Days and nights went by, and Thorin was getting all but better. He barely ate or slept, and if he talked to anyone was to ask about the progress of the search for the Arkenstone. The sickness which lay upon the treasures of Erebor had blinded his mind and senses to the point where he had started to doubt the loyalty of his own kin.

One night, while everyone slept, Thorin paced the throne hall - his hands latched behind his back and a deep frown between his bushy eyebrows, barely visible with the heavy crown he didn’t take off. He heard soft footsteps behind him and knew perfectly well that no dwarf could be so silent.

            ‘ _Amrâlimê_ , should you not be sleeping?’

            ‘Should you not be doing the same?’ Gilrin retorted, walking swiftly towards him. Thorin turned to face the elf who, although slightly taller than him, was still small enough for him to easily kiss her without any warning.

            ‘I apologise for my behaviour,  _atamé_ _._ ’ Thorin let out softly, and Gilrin kissed his forehead as a sign of forgiveness. She placed her hands on the king’s shoulders, as he did so on her hips, slowly walking them backwards until they reached the throne, where Thorin let himself drop on the metal seat, bringing Gilrin down with him.

The silence in the hall would have been thunderous, had both of them not been so mesmerised by each other. Soft whispers in various languages spiralled around them, floating in the air and filling the grand room. Slowly, the ambience warmed up, as clothing was discarded, kisses and touches accreted and words became useless.

            ‘Mahal kill me if you are not the most precious being in the world,  _ghivâshelûh_.’ Thorin let out between kisses as Gilrin closed her eyes, losing herself to the feeling of the dwarf’s words and lips and hands on her. He took her face in his hands and peppered it with feather-like kisses which lead to more passionate ones, until there no longer were two separate beings in the room, but rather two souls and bodies entwined and fused, if only for what seemed like the most entertaining night since their arrival.

 

            The following morning, Gilrin found herself back in the chamber which had been assigned to her and which, much to her dismay, was far too luxurious and big for her only.

Yet, she wasn’t alone.

Thorin slept beside her, thick mane of black and grey hair spread on the pillow. She turned to her side to examine the king’s…  _her king’s_  features. Asleep, he looked the most peaceful she had seen him since the quest started, free of all restraints and simulated temperance. This Thorin made her heart fill with a warm feeling of longing and, at the same time, of empowerment, for she knew she’d do anything for him, and that he would do the same for her.

As Gilrin gently twirled a braid between her fingers, examining curiously one of the beads in it, Thorin awoke, but she didn’t not notice. Not until the dwarf spoke, startling her a little.

            ‘I hope your need for knowledge about dwarven adornments is well satisfied,  _mizim_.’

            ‘Oh, you’re up, did I wake you?’ Gilrin asked, as she dropped the tiny braid form her fingers. Thorin shook his head softly, and smiled endearingly as he watched her. To an outsider, it would seem as if the dwarf was watching the most magical creature to walk the earth – and that was exactly how he felt.

Caressing Gilrin’s shoulder, he brought her into a warm hug which ended with her head on his chest and their fingers entwined. 

            ‘I haven’t felt like this in a long time, Gilrin, and I owe it to you. Nothing could replace the feelings inside me this right moment…’

Thorin’s speech was interrupted though, by a call from outside the chamber’s door. Apparently, Balin knew very well where to find his king at all times.

‘Thorin! Bard from Laketown is here. He demands to see you.’


	13. Acrimony

Thorin and Bard’s voices could be heard from the near halls as they argued; there was no way Thorin would part from a portion of the treasure, and Bard was having none of Thorin’s stubborn nonsense. However, Bard made a point which made Thorin hesitant.

            ‘We need to rebuild our homes, our lives. We are homeless and broken, like you once were! How can you have forgotten so quickly?’ Bard inquired desperately. ‘We just ask for what you promised, and we make an oath to pay you all back as promptly as we can. Is it too much to ask for?’

Thorin seemed to be touched by the man’s words, but then, when everyone was hoping he would tend his hand to the men and women of Esgaroth, he closed his eyes and turned his back sharply to Bard.

            ‘I will not give away a single coin of this treasure. It is duty of Durin’s line to protect it, and our as well to relish on it, not men.’ And with that, he left the room, leaving Bard dumbfounded for a second and furious the next.

Gilrin had been watching the scene from one of the many doors that converged in the hall. She made a move and approached Bard before he stormed out of there, fuming.

            ‘Bard, please, wait.’ She put a hand on his shoulder, and made him turn to look at her. Although the scowl hadn’t left his face, the man knew it was not the elf’s fault that dwarves were so unyielding. Gilrin took him outside, out of any indiscreet looks, and watched the man gravely. When she thought his fury had died down slightly, she begun. ‘I know Thranduil is in Esgaroth, I know he’s brought his army, and I know that he – and you for instance – plan on attacking Erebor, seeking the treasures inside. It is a futile attempt Bard: there is something coming. I went to the woods at dawn; the winds carry messages of two large armies of orcs, led by Azog and Bolg, approaching Laketown and Erebor, and rumours of a Necromancer rising in Dol Guldur have spread like wildfire.’

            ‘What do you mean, Gilrin?’

            ‘I mean, that you have to reassemble your people, take them away from the bloodbath that these lands are going to witness. Send them somewhere far away enough so that they are not harmed. Then, join your men and Thranduil’s with us, and we will try to fend off the enemy as well as we can. Please Bard, do as I say, for I mean nothing but well to you and the rest of your people.’ Gilrin pleaded with the man, who seemed to be pondering the elf’s request. Finally, he sighed and nodded earnestly.

            ‘I will see what I can do, but I believe the king of Mirkwood isn’t very fond of you nor the dwarves. However, I will ask that you try to reason with Oakenshield, make him understand what you told me. Maybe that way, he would be open to a vital alliance on which we all apparently depend.’

 

            Gilrin didn’t know when would be the best moment to try to talk Thorin into associating with the men and elves. She herself was not very sure what would come out of that alliance, but she was certain that, if the rumours she had heard were true, having numerous allies could mean the difference between life and death.

_The best moment to approach him might be when were alone, he seems to be in a better mood when no one is around us._ And, with that thought in mind, Gilrin decided to bring the surly dwarf his dinner – he was probably not going to come to dining room any time soon – and decided to talk to him while they ate.

            As she had foreboded, Thorin was once again sat on his iron throne, zealously guarding his gold, much like Smaug once did. Thorin didn’t hear her light, elvish footsteps this time, but he did notice when she placed the two full plates on a stone table nearby.

Much to Gilrin’s disillusion, the king’s eyes still bore the curse of his line within them, making the king’s gaze steely and distant. This didn’t deter Gilrin, though, and she made her way resolutely towards Thorin. Placing a hand on his shoulders, she crouched to be able to look at him in the eyes while he was still seated.

            ‘How are you feeling?’ She asked with a small smile on her face.

            ‘I’m quite fine.’ Thorin replied curtly. Gilrin frowned, hurt by Thorin’s tone. He noticed, and placed his hand on her, his eyes softening a little. ‘I’m sorry, it’s just this isn’t the best of times.’ He guided her to stand up and sit on his lap. Now, able to stare at each other, Thorin sighed, low-spiritedly. ‘This place… There is something wrong, I can feel it. But then again, I can also feel the pull, and the tug of the gold, luring me into the darkest places of my mind. I can hear the Arkenstone calling for me in the few hours I get of sleep.’ His frown deepened as he pored over Gilrin. ‘Am I going mad, _mizim_? Because this truly feels as if insanity had flooded my every perception and thought.’

Gilrin smiled sadly at the forlorn dwarf as she took his hands in hers. _At least he has noticed it,_ she wondered, sticking to that positive note.

            ‘Thorin, listen to me: _you_ are not mad. It is this place, the treasure if cursed. It is the curse of the line of Durin, that and the greed that so desperately clings to your heart. You must fight it Thorin, for dark forces are soon to be upon us – time is scarce and the dwarves need a leader, a _king_ to lead them once more.’

            ‘What are you talking about?’ Thorin inquired, shaking his head bewilderedly.

Gilrin told Thorin what she had learned that morning, and she told him about his talk with Bard as well, which made him clench his fists, but he said nothing. When she had finished, Thorin bore a grave frown and a quite disgruntled expression.

            ‘Do you expect me to ally with those cowardly men and filthy elves?! Mahal knows I would prefer to die that see that alliance be formed! I can’t believe you even suggested that, Gilrin; it is against our nature to deal with elves, even more so to form bonds and alliances with them!’

            ‘Cowardly? Bard helped us when we had no way of getting to the mountain. His daughters nursed Kili, your _nephew,_ back to health when he was almost dying!’ Gilrin stood up, angrily trying to get her point across to the stubborn dwarf. Then, he features turned doleful, her spirit from seconds before crushed when Thorin’s words sunk in, ‘and, as for elves, is it really that bad to deal with us? Are we still nothing more than our pointy ears and the mistake of our ancestors? I had hoped to change your mind about us, but now I see how pertinacious you are.’

Disconsolate and heartsick, Gilrin left the room.

Thorin did not move. Anger boiled in his veins and what he thought was Gilrin’s betrayal for allying with the men against him.

‘TRAITOR!’ He yelled behind her.

But he was alone, with the treasure, once again.

 

            Night was falling, heavy with the weight of stars and clouds. The world was replaced by its eerie twin, the one of inverted colours and darkness and dangers lurking behind every shadow.

Inside the Lonely Mountain, the halls and chambers were illuminated with bright golden light from candles and hearths. Inside it, twelve dwarves and a hobbit were enjoying a hearty dinner, reunited in the dining hall. Two members of their group were missing, though. Everyone had noticed their absence, but none had commented on it yet, and they were all itching to ask who was more likely to know: Balin.

The old dwarf was the only one who could understand Thorin’s mind, and thus, he was his utmost advisor, and someone who the king could confide on. However, he didn’t know how to sort the situation at hand.

Finally, Kili was the one to ask about his uncle.

            ‘Balin, is uncle Thorin not joining us tonight either?’

            ‘It seems likely that he won’t, lad’, Balin replied with a sad smile.

Bilbo halted his eating for a moment and looked around him, worried that he had not yet seen Gilrin that night - she was usually as eager as him to have something to eat. In fact, he had not seen her since that morning, when he had spotted her speaking to Bard. He had considered that a much strange meeting, but he had disregarded it. Now, though, he was quite disgruntled, and he made a mental note to look for Gilrin when dinner was over.

            Soon enough, everyone felt satiated and one by one, they begun leaving the dining hall. Bilbo left as soon as he had finished his third portion of pie, and went seeking for the lost elf.

First, he looked in Gilrin’s chamber, which he thought would be the most reasonable place for her to be. He walked hurriedly towards the room, but found it completely empty, both of people and light. Frowning, he left to continue trying to track Gilrin down.

The northern chambers, the lower ones, every hall and every room was fruitless. There was no trace of Gilrin, it seemed as if she had vanished. He was tempted to ask Thorin whether he knew about the elf’s whereabouts. He declined the idea, though, knowing that it was most probable that the dwarf had something to do with Gilrin not wanting to be found. Exasperated, he decided to have some fresh air to clear his mind.

And out there, in the darkness of the night, sat on a rock an immobile Gilrin, with her arms hugging her knees and her back illuminated by the tremulous lights that escaped the open doors of the fortress. Bilbo sighed, partly relieved, partly more worried.

            ‘Gilrin, what are you doing out here?’ He asked gently, as he approached his friend. ‘It’s cold and late, sweetheart.’

            ‘The night has a calming effect, I suppose.’ Gilrin replied softly. She glanced at Bilbo as he lowered himself to sit beside her, and saw him shiver not so discreetly. She chuckled softly and wrapped her arm around him, rubbing his arm softly. ‘You are the one who should be inside – would not want you to get sick.’

            ‘You didn’t come for dinner, so I went looking for you.’ 

Gilrin sighed and hugged the shivering hobbit close. ‘I’m afraid I’m not in the mood, Bilbo.’

            ‘What’s wrong?’ Bilbo inquired, worriedly. Although he had his suspicious, he didn’t say a word and waited for Gilrin to answer.

The elf removed her arm from Bilbo’s shoulders and rubbed her face in clear distress, letting out a frustrated sound. Then, she looked at the expecting hobbit and placed her hands under her chin.

            ‘Things with Thorin are, well… They aren’t getting any better, if I am to put it like that.’ Bilbo encouraged her to continue and she did, telling him everything: from her conversation with Bard to the threats that loomed over them and Thorin’s choler. The hobbit listened carefully, his face going pale at the mention of orcs, and his eyebrows knitting at Thorin’s reaction to the very much needed alliance.

When Gilrin went silent, Bilbo placed a reassuring hand on hers. ‘We need to figure something out, Gilrin. If Thorin remains unyielding, we would be facing an inevitable defeat and a more inevitable death.’

            ‘I know, Bilbo, I know. Do you have anything in mind?’

Bilbo furrowed his eyebrows deeper, as he thought hard.

            ‘Well, I do have an idea, although it is quite reckless…’


	14. Return, fear, hope

Thorin’s footsteps echoed in the empty hall where he held his fort - no one dared enter the room, fearful of the king’s wrath. Not even his nephews, nor Balin or Dwalin dared do so.

Sullenly, the dwarf traced the bejewelled columns that held the hall, walked up and down it, lost in the turmoil of conspiracies and betrayals that his mind had become. No one was exempt of being a potential fifth columnist, not even when Thorin would’ve given his life for theirs any time had he not fallen prey of the gold sickness.

In the turbulence of a disquieted mind, sleep avoided the king altogether, almost as if it was afraid it’d be a victim of his madness too, as did hunger and longing for anyone else’s company. All Thorin needed, he had in his gold hoard – all, except the Arkenstone which was still missing.

_Someone has it; someone has hidden it from me! Traitors, traducers, Judas!_

His thoughts wandered off betrayal towards a certain, recently slain dragon, and to the last words Gilrin had said to him before leaving. _How could she have imagined I would want to ally with men and those filthy Mirkwood elves?!_

Thorin felt dizzy as his head tried to digest all which pounded his battered brain like a tidal wave. Although his common sense tried to rise above the derangement, the king was still a gaolbird in his own mind.

 

            Before their mission begun, Gilrin had organised a meeting in the dining hall. In spite of everyone else’s worries, she was perfectly sure Thorin would not show around there.

The room was overflowing with energy and curiosity as impatience grew. It was just a matter of time that one of the dwarves demanded an explanation. And, in the end, it was Balin who asked.

            ‘What is go going on, laddies? Come on, we do not have all day.’

            ‘Yes, well… master Balin, the thing is…’ Bilbo started, but seeing him slightly distressed, Gilrin took over the explanation.

            ‘You have all seen Thorin’s state, have you not?’ Gilrin asked, and most of them nodded, looking deadly serious. ‘Well then, master Bilbo here has come up with a genius plan to try and make peace with the elves and the men…’

            ‘What are you waiting for, laddie? Talk!’ Balin urged her.

Gilrin raised her hands to calm down the old dwarf.

            ‘Calm down. First, we need to manage to get Bilbo to Laketown and, there, he will try to negotiate with them.’ The dwarves started to fuss around and protest, but Gilrin gave a strong blow to one of the tables with her hand. Everyone shut up immediately. ‘Thank you. Gentlemen, the situation is critical, and our best shot at establishing a dialogue towards negotiation is Bilbo. He is, how to say it… the best diplomat around here. Then, when that is done and Bilbo is safe and doing his task, I will leave towards Gundabad. There is an army of orcs led by Azog advancing towards this same mountain, and we might have a higher chance against them if we know what we’re facing.’

            ‘An army?’ Kili asked, wide eyed.

            ‘Yes, Kili, an army, and one we certainly can’t defeat with a company of fifteen. That is why I will go there, try to make out any weaknesses, and hopefully find some help.’ Gilrin explained, leaning on the table, her hands tight against the cold stone. ‘The rest of you who will remain here, need to try and reason with Thorin, and you need to convince him of giving refuge to the men – otherwise they will all perish beneath the wrath of the orcs, and there will be nothing we will be able to do.’

All the dwarves nodded, understanding of the situation. However, Fili and Kili – almost as if they had a mental connection which Gilrin wasn’t certain didn’t exist.

            ‘We want to go with you, _Azbadu men._ It is the least we can do.’

Gilrin knew there was no arguing with both brothers, so she simply nodded and looked at Balin and Dwalin, who would most probably be the leaders of the remaining dwarves while Thorin was, well… incapacitated.

            ‘Balin, Dwalin, you are the only ones who can… _manage_ , so please, try to reason with him. He might listen.’ Both dwarves nodded and Balin advanced, placing a broad hand on Gilrin’s shoulder when he got to her.

            ‘Don’t worry, laddie, we’ll manage.’ He came nearer and whispered so only she could hear him. ‘Take care, the three of you. Mahal knows what Thorin would do without any of you…’

Gilrin nodded, smiling half-heartedly at the old dwarf. Then, she turned to the rest of the expecting young dwarves. ‘Fili, Kili, we’re leaving tonight. Go ready yourselves, please.’

 

            The night was freezing, and not a single sound rolled down the slope of the Lonely Mountain. Two dwarves, an elf and a hobbit hurried down rapidly, under the protective wing of the night. Not even the moon shone, completely covered by leaden cloud which conferred the sky a sick, rusty orange colour.

It was a good two hours before the group reached the lowest pint of the mountain; there, their paths parted. Gilrin hugged Bilbo tight, a knot in her stomach at the thought of anything happening to the precious, brave creature.

            ‘Take care Bilbo, use your mind and your wit – do not trust Thranduil, under any circumstances. Talk to Bard, he is a reasonable man, and he has no reason to hurt you. Tell them where we’re going, and why we’re leaving.’ She kissed his forehead carefully, and the hobbit nodded stiffly. ‘ _Na lû e-govaned vîn_ , Bilbo.’

And with that brief farewell, Bilbo turned on his heels towards Laketown, and Kili, Fili and Gilrin dashed towards the once dwarven realm of Gundabad.

            Five days had been since Thorin had last talked to anyone. Five days since he had eaten or slept – without Gilrin there to make him perform such trivial tasks, he couldn’t find the strength, or the will to do them. He had no mind of his own, he had no body of his own anymore – he was a mere spectre of the dwarf he once was, consumed by greed, suspicion and regret.

Another night went by as Thorin watched over the gold from his throne, unaware of the sun rising, not even noticing when his old friend Balin walked into the room with unsure steps. The white-haired dwarf cleared his throat in an attempt to get the king’s attention, but as his subtle move had seemingly failed, he approached the throne bluntly.

            ‘Thorin.’ The dwarf didn’t turn, but rather continued to watch the hoard intently. ‘Thorin! You need to get out of this hall. This kingdom needs its leader back, we need you back.’

            ‘You are all perfectly capable of taking care of yourselves, Balin. You did so for many years while the mountain was forbidden to us.’ Thorin retorted in a low, disturbed voice, without turning to look at Balin yet.

            ‘No we haven’t, Thorin. _You_ took care of us, and made sure we found jobs and shelters, homes, food. You led us through onerous times; lead us once more towards the final fight so that we can finally call this mountain our _home_ again – so that we can all relish in it, with our friends and families, with our _loved ones._ ’

Something twitched inside Thorin’s minds at Balin’s words. He was not yet completely free of the influx of the curse of the line of Durin, but the fog that blinded his sight and senses seemed to fade partially. He remembered the thirteen dwarves that had stood by him through the highs and lows of their journey. He remembered Bilbo, with his foolish courage; Gandalf, the wise and powerful wizard he remembered too. And last, he remembered Gilrin’s face, bright as stars under the light of the campfire in the cave, the first they’d shared tender touches and loving words.

Thorin’s heart wrenched at the idea of having failed all of them, the people for whom he cared the most. He was supposed to be their leader, the one person on who they could count, the one they could trust to lead them. Instead, he had let lifeless coins and jewels consume his heart and conscience to the point where he had even doubted those of his kin. It was not regret what burned in the dwarf’s bloodstream, but rather mortification and an imperative need to bring amendment to his mistakes. Slowly, he turned to his old friend and placed a hand on his shoulder.

            ‘My dear Balin, what do we need to do?

 

            Two more days went by and Thorin was seemingly back to his old self. He had sought advice in Balin and Dwalin, who were more than glad to have their king and friend back. They had told Thorin about the men of Laketown being in need for shelter and protection against the army that was most probably soon to be upon them. Thorin wasn’t exactly fond of the idea of letting men in the mountain, but in the end understood the need to protect at least the women and children.

Though everything seemed to be going exceptionally well, Thorin – although busy most of the day and night – wondered quite frequently about Gilrin’s whereabouts. The first day he had not seen her, he had figured she would probably still be furious at him (he didn’t blame her.) However, the second day, when he wasn’t able to spot neither the elf nor any of his nephews, Thorin started to suspect something was going on behind his back. And this time, not like with the Arkenstone’s disappearance, he was right.

And so, at noon, he found Balin and asked him where Kili, Fili and Gilrin were. The other dwarf went noticeably pale as he looked for an excuse in his head. However, Thorin was having none of those as he gave Balin a thunderous look.

Balin sighed, but caved into the king’s interrogation.

            ‘They left seven days ago. They went to Gundabad, trying to find any possible way to defeat Azog’s army.’

            ‘What?!’ Thorin asked, incredulously. ‘And you let them? They won’t stand a chance if they are discovered by the orcs!’

            ‘I know, Thorin, but there was no way I could stop them. Mahal knows there was nothing anyone could have done!’ Balin’s defeated expression made Thorin back down in his reprimand. After all, there was nothing more stubborn than two young dwarves and a reckless elf.

            ‘Balin, do not fret. Let’s just hope they come home safe and on time.’

 

            The morning of the eighth day begun the relocation of the women and children of Esgaroth. As Thorin had accepted that they stayed inside the mountain, there had been no need for Bard to hold any grudge against the dwarves, even more so when Bilbo spoke to Thorin and the latter, although through gritted teeth, accepted to give them their share of the gold to rebuild Laketown once the battle was over.

However, peace with Thranduil didn’t come as pleasantly. Both king’s despised each other with a passion, and thus, none of them were willing to cede in the slightest, not even with the threat of war looming over their heads.

That night, Bombur had more work than usual with dinner, however, he had many more people to help him. The women from Esgaroth were unearthly talented with fish, and they had a hearty fish stew ready for all of the inhabitants of the mountain in a few hours. The first to eat were the children, whose laughter echoed through the mountain, unaware of the danger they were in.

Just when dinner had ended and everyone was preparing to call it a night and have a very much needed rest, three figures appeared in front of the gates of Erebor. The new guards – three or four of the oldest children, who felt useless not being able to fight in the oncoming battle – didn’t recognise them at first. Yet, when Thorin’s booming voice commanded them to open the doors, they didn’t hesitate to let the strangers inside.

When the three newcomers were inside, the doors closed with a loud metallic, stone-like clatter behind them.

The first to reach them, of course, was Thorin, who had been fretting over their safety since he had recovered his sanity. He made sure they were unharmed, before engulfing the three of them in a bear hug filled with apologies and welcomes better left unsaid.

            ‘You three, the lot of you, are as mad as a hatter.’ Thorin pulled back and smiled at the tired, but smiling group. ‘Bloody lucky bastards; I couldn’t wish for more now that you’ve returned.’

 

            After a good portion of Bombur’s stew and fresh clothes, the recently arrived members of the company joined the others in one of the many halls which weren’t occupied by the refugees. There, the whole group – except Bilbo – awaited, eager to hear the news.

 

Gilrin was beyond exhausted, so she let Fili and Kili do the talking – which they didn’t mind at all – as she rested in her seat and listened to the enthusiastic brothers.

            ‘There are about two thousand orcs, led by Azog, on their way towards Erebor. We suspect there is another army, led by Bolg.’ Kili explained to the others, with a glint in his eyes which gave away how scared, yet how excited he was.

            ‘Our only hope is to find allies, to outnumber them. Mahal knows the orcs are vicious, but not very smart. If we can stop them before they reach the mountain, we might have a chance to defeat them,’ Fili reasoned, more level-headed than his younger brother.

The others listened intently to what the young dwarves had to tell them, occasionally peering at one another in worry or fear. Dwarves were brave by nature, but they weren’t stupid – two armies of orcs were not something one faced and defeated every day.

Thorin upheld his interested, but apathetic expression. Partly, he knew they would have to do something drastic to overcome the threats to come. On the other hand, all he wanted to do at the moment, was crawl into bed after long days without sleep, and not alone, this time.

And thus, he declared the reunion finished and ordered everyone to leave, have a good night’s rest and be up early in the morning. Tired and eager to rest, the dwarves emptied the room without reluctance and, soon, only Thorin and Gilrin remained there.

It was merely a few moments before Thorin embraced Gilrin, hugging her tightly against him. Although she was slightly taller, Thorin’s enthusiasm made her feel tiny, and made her insides go agog. She felt the heat irradiating from his body, and words felt superfluous. They remained as so for seconds, minutes, just feeling each other close for the first time since far too long.

At some point, Thorin pulled back slightly to study Gilrin’s scintillating eyes, and bright visage.

            ‘Oh, how I have missed you.’ Thorin confessed, bringing Gilrin close to him again. She returned the embrace tightly, but said nothing. ‘I am too repelled by my previous behaviour that I seem to be at a loss for words to apologise.’

            ‘Then don’t.’ Gilrin replied strongly. She pulled back slightly and watched Thorin’s remorseful countenance. Smiling tenderly, Gilrin kissed Thorin’s forehead dotingly; she drew back and held Thorin’s face in her hands as if it was the most precious item on earth. ‘There is no need. Do not apologise for not a single thing that is happening is your fault.’

            ‘You are far too lenient, _mizim._ ’ Said Thorin, looking at her dismally.

            ‘What is it? Is there anything amiss, Thorin?’

            He shook his head softly, smiling gloomily as he gazed at the ceiling above them. ‘No, nothing is wrong as of now.’

            ‘Then what is it? Why are you so rueful?’

            ‘I am _afraid_ , Gilrin.’ Thorin admitted, retreating until he was a few steps away from an understanding Gilrin, who could just goggle at him as he paced the room. ‘I am _afraid_! I have never felt fear in my life before – I have battled orcs, beasts of all sorts, monsters… And yet I am terrified this time.’ Thorin plonked himself down on a step, putting his head in her hands and rubbing his temples. ‘I am horror-stricken by the idea of losing any of you in the battle – I wouldn’t be able to function if I was to survive the battle and any of you perished. I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself, nor would I be able to continue living if…’

Gilrin rushed to his side embracing him quickly and comfortingly.

            ‘Look at me. Look at me, come on, that’s it.’ Gilrin cupped Thorin’s face, scowling slightly in concern. ‘No one, do you hear me? No one is going to fall in battle, are you listening? None of us carry the fate an early death in battle. We will all fight, we will survive, and we will witness a brighter sun shine above the summit of the Lonely Mountain.’

            ‘How can you be so sure about that, Gilrin?’

            ‘I am not. But my heart can’t stand not holding faith in it, not after I lived so long in darkness; I couldn’t continue if I just contemplated the possibility of losing any of my _friends_ , of losing you. For me, that possibility simply doesn’t exist.’

Thorin didn’t say a word, but rather sat in silence, enjoying Gilrin’s touch. She was too brave for her own sake and, though he was sure he was courageous too, at that moment he could only hope for the best, and fear the worst. However, he simply kissed Gilrin, with all his might, with all he had in him, as if it was the last time he was going to be able to hold her.

            ‘We will fight to live another day, and another, and many more – all of us. Keep that in mind, Thorin.’

Thorin nodded, and held Gilrin’s hand in his as he smiled.            

            ‘When all this is over, things will be very different, I can assure you. E _zulik urus men –_ my mithril fire - your light will shine upon the world, and it will relish upon it till the end of times.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *FINALLY revealed the meaning behind the title. Yes, I tried to make up an expression in khuzdul - ezulik urus is meant to mean mithril fire (the suffix -men at the end simply means "my").  
> **Azbadu men -> my lady  
> ***Na lû e-govaned vîn -> to the time of our meeting (sindarin)  
> ****


	15. A/N

EXPECT NEW CHAPTER IN A FEW HOURS!  
BTW SO SORRY I HAVEN'T UPLOADED IN FOREVER, I WAS BUSY WITH UNI ENTRANCE EXAMS D:


	16. A sense of foreboding

There was no such thing as day and night anymore. Days became mornings occupied with battle plans and negotiations and afternoons spent training every single person who was able and willing to fight. Nights were a string of restless dreams and series of sleepless souls who chose to wander the vastness that was the mountain at the prospect of yet another white night of counting the minutes until the sun rose.

                It was a beautiful surprise for Gilrin when, short after her arrival, the women of Lake Town had approached her and had intensely required to be trained by her, due to the elf being _the most intelligent and talented fighter they had ever seen_ , as they had so kindly put it. The women were brave, intelligent and strong willed and Gilrin found herself more than willing to fulfil their wishes – not only for the sake of battle, but rather to show the world of men just how valuable, independent and capable those (and all) women were. They may not have had the perfect physical form for battle, as they hadn’t needed to, yet they put every single ounce of energy and strength they had in every training. At the end of the day, Gilrin felt pride and warmth when she saw the vibrant energy that radiated from them, as they left the improvised _training grounds,_ smiling and exhausted, to get cleaned up and have their well-deserved food and rest.

                At dawn of the fifth day after her return, Gilrin was already outside of the mountain, right in front of the doors of the kingdom, getting ready to begin with the women’s training. As she warmed up her tired muscles, the elf’s mind wandered off to the astounding velocity of the development of her pupils’ fighting skills.

                The first women began to exit the mountain and join their _teacher_ outside the iron doors; as Gilrin handed out several knives to the small group, a few people came over to watch them. They thoroughly warmed up, and then Gilrin proceeded to pair the women up so they could practice with one another. First, rather easy techniques, which were mean to ensure their survival and victory in the most probable event of a hand to hand combat, followed by knife and sword moves and stances and last, several moves to improve their physical strength.

By the time they were done, the group was frazzled and willing to have their dinner already- Gilrin felt as if the days flew by as they trained, and so, she turned to the smiling group, her too beaming.

                ‘That was all for today, ladies.’ She could hear the relieved sighs that some let out, and some chatter about lunch and the sort. Gilrin clapped her hands once and dismissed the group. ‘Have some rest and I’ll see you all tomorrow.’

                Most women left at once, but a couple stayed to ask Gilrin about things they either hadn’t completely grasped, or things they were willing to try out or improve. However, they were soon gone as was the little audience they had attracted, and Gilrin was left alone to begin her own training. It had absolutely nothing to do with anything she’d been teaching the women before – this was fierce, passionate, fighting, one that only those who cherished and utterly enjoyed they rush of battle could cope with. Running up and about, springing gracefully, yet incredibly fast from rock to rock. Knife in one hand and an elvish longsword in the other, the elvish warrior slashed through thin air as if her most despised enemy stood there ready to taste the steel of her weapons. Amidst the weapons’ whistling sound through the empty space, soft grunts and noises came from the dashing elf who seemed to be involved in a swift swirl of speed, strength and thirst for the rush of battle. Nothing could describe the scene better than the image of a mortal dance of passion, rage and adrenaline.

                That is, until the elvish longsword found an impenetrable obstacle.

                Gilrin stopped dead on her tracks, eyes searching until they met the intruder. _Daermedui_ almost fell from Gilrin’s steel grasp at the sight of Thorin before her, _Orcrist_ tight between his hands, restraining the elf’s sword. His eyes gleamed with challenge, as if silently daring her to fight him with all her might. A devilish smile crawled onto Gilrin’s lips as she retreated slightly to analyse Thorin as if he was just another rival. Thorin imitated Gilrin, studying her body and stance with a steely gaze, yet a defying grin gave away just how much time he’d been waiting to do this.

                In a silvery flash, Gilrin was right in front of Thorin, throwing hit after hit, slash after slash which Thorin just managed to block. His façade was intact, yet inside, Thorin was astounded by Gilrin’s unearthly velocity and the skill and grace of her every strike. The dwarf’s only advantage was brute strength, which he had plenty of. In spite of this, it was almost impossible for him to strike and hit Gilrin, as she was too fast, dodging all his blows with nimble ducks and sylphlike leaps.

At one point in their _fight_ , Thorin lost sight of Gilrin for a moment and then, there was no trace of her – it was as if she’d vanished. In between heavy breaths, the king’s eyes scrutinised his surroundings, looking for his evaporated adversary.

                ‘Always keep your back guarded.’ Gilrin murmured in the dwarf’s ear with a sultry, soft voice. He heard her before he felt her sword on his neck. Straightening his spine, Thorin swallowed.

                ‘If I was to be ambushed from behind by you, I’d gladly let all guards down any time, _azbadu men._ ’ Thorin taunted, in a hushed voice, as he felt every inch of Gilrin’s body pressed against his back. Could been a blazing sun behind him and not an elf for the heat irradiating from Gilrin’s body was ungodly.

In a fast movement, Thorin threw his booted foot behind Gilrin’s, and pulled sharply forward, thus making her fall harshly to the stone ground. Just as the elf’s back hit the rock, Thorin was on top of her, ridding Gilrin of her weapons and seemingly immobilising her. The dwarf lowered his face so his lips were at level with Gilrin’s ear and spoke provocatively.

                ‘Seems like it’s you who let their guard down this time.’

                ‘Maybe.’ Gilrin shrugged as best as she could in that position. She made a small motion for Thorin to close the distance between them and, soon, they were kissing softly. However, it was in a mere second that Gilrin had managed to use that as a distraction to rid herself from the dwarf’s hold and reverse the position, so it was now Thorin with his back pressed to the cold stone ground, and her on top, thwarting any possible movement Thorin might’ve wanted to make. Amidst heavy breaths, Gilrin gloated triumphantly at the defeated dwarf beneath her grasp. On his side, Thorin was too surprised to notice anything other than the crimson eyes that bore holes into his very soul.

                ‘Don’t let your guard, or next time I might end up killing you, _my king._ ’

                                                                                              -

That night, the sky turned an angry bronze colour that forebode an imminent storm, almost as if to announce the horrid news that would come with the light of the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am very sorry for not having updated the story in forever, but I've been busy with uni access exams in june, uni applications and enrollment on july ... on august I've just been plain lazy, so I don't really have an excuse. Anyway, I really hope to make it up for y'all with this chapter, even though nothing plot related happens in it, it was real fun to write.  
> Stay alert for the next chapter becasue shit is about to go down.  
> Peace!


	17. A/N

It's been an entirely too long time since I've so much as gone into this website, and I will not bore any of you - whoever is still keeping track of the story - with details.  
Anyway, recently I've been thinking about this story as a whole, about Gilrin's potential as an original character and about how much I ship Bagginshield - yes, I do. So, as I've been thinking about it for a while now, I'm feeling like re-issuing, if you like, this story so that Gilrin is still the main character, but not the only one, and Bagginshield (and maybe, who knows, some other) is the main ship.  
I'd very much enjoy if anyone who's read/would want to continue reading this story would comment their opinion on this topic - if there's too many of you who side against this idea, I might keep writing this story and post the re-issua as a separate story altogether, but keeping both up.

Thank you to anyone who's read this story, and to whoever decides to spare a few minutes of their life helping me figure out what I should do (as I clearly have the decission-making ability of a tea spoon).

Have an awesome day, peeps!

**Author's Note:**

> *Sorry for any mistakes, I proof read it, but some errors may have escaped.  
> ** Please note that I have no idea about period writing, so I'm trying to imitate Tolkien's style as best as I can with what I've got, considering english is not my first language.  
> *** The title of the story is written in Khuzdul, and the meaning behind it will be revealed in future chapters.  
> ****I apologise in advance because I know the dialogues and all that stuff aren't exactly like the ones in the book/film.


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